


Heroin And The Midnight Sea

by MrEvilside



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Age Difference, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Ambiguous Relationships, Dark Past, Dubious Morality, Enemies to Friends, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, From Mature To Explicit, Loki Does What He Wants, M/M, Madness, Morally Ambiguous Character, Murder, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Character Death, Plot Twists, Private Investigators, Rating May Change, Swearing, Tattoos, The Author Regrets Nothing, Warning: Loki, pre-Jessica Jones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2016-04-08
Packaged: 2018-05-09 07:23:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 30,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5530859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrEvilside/pseuds/MrEvilside
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sole survivor of the accident that killed Howard and Maria Stark, only heir to Stark Industries, and nineteen-year-old mechanical prodigy, Tony Stark has been on the run for two years; now he hides in Hell's Kitchen, working as Steve Rogers's tattoo apprentice.</p><p>Private investigator and assassin for hire, Loki Himinnidr moves in Jessica Jones's condo, asking for the best tattoo artist in the neighbourhood.</p><p>Jessica throws a laptop against the wall and finds herself untangling the threads linking Tony to Stark Industries, Stark Industries to Loki, and Loki to a dark past, buried and forgotten in England ten years ago.</p><p>Updates every Friday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SunshineA](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunshineA/gifts).



 

Jessica was trying to work the laptop without giving in to her rising anger. She had been trying for a good twenty minutes now.

The machine was not cooperating.

Gritting her teeth, the woman stared at the unresponsive screen and closed her hand into a fist. She raised it above her head, knitted her brows, and channelled her rage down her arm, until her fingers were prickling.

Then she remembered she wouldn’t be able to do her job without a computer, and a shitty one was better than none at all.

She all but growled and let her hand fall limply in her lap. She had to take a long swig from her already half-empty bottle of whisky before she could muster enough patience to give the machine another try.

Once again, the desktop stayed stubbornly black.

She didn’t punch it. She threw it against the wall instead, hard enough that the shabby place shook and some dust fell on the floor. The laptop landed on the ground and broke in half with a satisfying crack. Well, satisfying until she realised she really had no computer now.

‘Oh, fuck.’

She slumped backwards until her back hit the couch, lifted her legs to put her feet on the short table in front of her, and brought the bottle to her lips again. She finished it and hurled that, too, at the wall, hoping it would make her feel better, like the laptop-crashing session had. It didn’t.

Then it got even worse, because someone knocked on her goddamn door. Jessica wanted to scream, but that would give her presence away – as if the smashing noise hadn’t been quite telling – so she muttered a curse and held still, waiting.

Her unexpected visitor insisted. They were banging against the door, the loud, almost rhythmic thumps amplified by her alcohol-induced headache. Thanks to the asshole, she would have a hell of a migraine the following day. The least she could do was not to let them get away with it.

It was either Malcolm during one of his trips or Ruben bringing her banana bread, she decided as she got up and strode to the door. She tailored a statement to each of them – both involving creative swearing and violence – and even started opening her mouth, but abruptly snapped it shut when she saw who it was.

She had never met him before. Probably in his thirties, he was handsome in a way that somehow reminded her of Kilgrave – elegant and composed on the surface, yet, if she watched him closely, she could catch a glimpse of wildness lurking beneath, like wildfire. He had long black hair that spilled over his shoulders in a disorderly manner, contrasting with the flawless state of his attire – a pair of black suit trousers and a white shirt. His green eyes were bright and beautiful, but the annoyance in them as he scrutinised her was poisonous and ugly.

‘Who are you?’ she blurted out on impulse, taking a careful step backwards.

He was _not_ Kilgrave and she was _not_ going to freak out every time she came across a handsome British guy. She was okay. The guy looked like a prick, which just happened to be the best definition of Kilgrave, too, but that was the end of it. Or, at least, that was what she told herself to be able to ignore the odd feeling in her gut.

The man tilted his head to the side and lifted an eyebrow, clearly displeased by her reaction. ‘My name is Loki,’ he said at last, his tone clipped and cold. Not unkind, but not friendly, either. ‘I’m your new neighbour.’

He didn’t hold out his hand and she didn’t make to offer hers. They stared each other down until she lost her patience. It didn’t take that long, to be honest. ‘So what? You want me to throw a welcome party or something?’

A small part of her was ashamed at herself for treating him like shit for no reason. The rest of her was just drunk and irritated, and she had work to do.

He paused to take in her dishevelled appearance and to steal a glance above her shoulder. She idly wondered if he could spot the carcass of her laptop or the shards of glass scattered on the floor.

The ghost of a shit-eating grin danced over his thin lips and she humoured herself imagining how attractive his smile would be if she punched him in his teeth. She didn’t act on the fantasy. Yet.

‘No,’ Loki replied, ‘but I would appreciate it if you could give up trying to take down the building. I’m in the flat right above yours and I find it quite difficult to do my job if the walls keep shaking.’

‘Uh,’ was Jessica’s brilliant response. She regretted not being sober to convey exactly how much of a dick that guy was with his posh British accent and his well-spoken little speech, but she also regretted being a selfish asshole in the first place. Contrary to popular belief, she did not antagonise her neighbours on purpose. She might have some anger management issues, though.

She didn’t want to apology to him and at the same time she didn’t want to slam the door in his face like she had been about to do earlier. She opted for a none-too-subtle change of subject. ‘I didn’t know you’d moved in.’

‘Perhaps you’ve been too preoccupied with smashing things.’

If he had said that with the same holier-than-thou attitude as before, Jessica would have most certainly made sure to break his nose with the door. Instead, Loki’s voice lost its sharp edge and his pretentious smirk eased into a mischievous smile that she couldn’t help but mirror. A little. She wasn’t great at smiling; it didn’t come naturally to her.

‘Maybe,’ she admitted. ‘Sorry. I’m not the best neighbour. Welcome to Hell’s Kitchen, I guess? Though I’m pretty sure you’ve already been here for a month or something.’ She rubbed the side of her nose to have an excuse to look away and swallow her guilt. ‘I’m Jessica. Jessica Jones.’

Maybe Loki expected her to say something else, but she was shit at talking to people, so she didn’t, and they just stood there uncomfortably until the man cleared his throat. ‘May I ask why you were, ahem…’

‘Trying to take down the building?’ She met his gaze and took the initiative for once, attempting a genuine smile. She suspected her “genuine smiles” resembled a shark’s, but Loki didn’t seem put off by it like most people did. ‘I was… Well, believe it or not, but I was trying to work, too. But my fucking laptop didn’t start and I got angry. I also drank too much, I think.’

Loki looked at her, nonplussed. ‘So you threw it.’

Jessica crossed her arms over her chest and stood with her legs wide apart in that defensive stance that had become second nature to her over the years. She held up her chin in defiance and dared him to challenge her. ‘Yes, I did.’

‘That’s how you made the place _tremble_?’

‘Yup.’

The man arched both eyebrows and she was struck by a surprising thought: he wasn’t criticising her. He was intrigued. There was only another person that had ever expressed interest in her abilities other than fear or rejection, but, unlike before, Jessica couldn’t find it in herself to compare her new neighbour to Kilgrave. After that first surge of uneasiness, which she was pretty sure had just been her being a drunken bitch, Loki felt right.

‘That is impressive indeed,’ he admitted. There was a question hidden in his words, but he didn’t voice it directly and Jessica didn’t address it. Right or not, she didn’t put up posters and the guy was still a stranger. Loki was quick on the uptake and nodded towards the name written on her door. ‘You’re a PI, right?’

When she nodded, he went on, ‘Were you working on a case then?’

‘Kinda.’ She made a face and shrugged. ‘Some idiot trying to rob his boss. No big deal. I’ll go get a new laptop tomorrow.’

She had a hunch Loki would offer her his own computer and she didn’t want to pass for an ungrateful piece of shit by turning him down. It wasn’t like she found him unpleasant – he managed to keep her talking for more than ten minutes; he should be nominated for an Oscar just for that – but she wasn’t ready. Not with a stranger she’d barely met, not so soon. It felt––Too much. Too Kilgrave.

However, Loki didn’t look disappointed and he was smart enough to read between the lines and figure out what she wanted to say. He wasn’t going to lend her his laptop, then, but he still gave her the impression he was debating whether to ask her something. All of a sudden, his shoulders stiffened and his sharp eyes darted between her and the door.

She was about to snap and shatter the uneasy silence, but he beat her to it. ‘With your job, I suppose you know a lot of people around here. I was wondering if you could point me to any good tattoo artist. Actually, the best, if possible. I must admit I’m quite picky.’

It was that simple. That harmless.

Jessica relaxed, wishing she could slap herself. She wondered why she always had to assume the worst. Not that she actually needed to ask herself that – something was wrong with her, that was why. She was broken and scared and terrible at dealing with human beings.

‘A tattoo artist.’ She almost laughed, but the taste of her mirth was sour. ‘Yeah, sure.’

Without inviting him in, she walked back to her desk to get a pen and a post-it, scribbled down a name and an address, and returned to the doorway. She handed Loki the note and withdrew her arm quickly before their hands could touch.

‘Here,’ she said, making an effort to sound more or less kind in order to make up for the impoliteness of her body language. ‘He’s the best.’

The man spared it barely a fleeting glance before tucking it into his chest pocket. For all his dismissive demeanour, Jessica thought he seemed displeased for an instant. Loki spoke before she could dwell on that, ‘Thank you. I wasn’t sure who to go to; I moved in two days ago and I don’t know anyone yet. I’d like to get my tattoo done as soon as possible.’

‘Okay,’ she said, because she didn’t know how to reply. How did people handle normal conversations? She was used to discussions of contracts, interrogations, and threats, not friendly chats. ‘I’ll see you around then, I guess.’

‘Most certainly.’ Loki smiled and this time, even if only for a split-second, Jessica felt the same rush of discomfort as when she’d opened the door. Then the man’s lips twisted into a playful, innocuous grin, and his eyes glinted. The urge to tell her something disappeared from his face, replaced by his self-confidence as he started to turn away from her. ‘Goodnight, Jessica.’

She watched him in silence while he walked towards the elevator. When he was half-way through the corridor, she called out to him. ‘Hey.’

He glanced at her over his shoulder, waiting. She was already regretting speaking up – what would she say? How did people make friends? Did she _want_ to make friends with Loki? – but she couldn’t back out now. She rested her shoulder against the doorframe, hoping to come across as nonchalant rather than as though she had no idea what to do with herself, and quipped, ‘Wouldn’t take you for a tattoo sort of person.’

Loki’s mouth twitched minutely, mirth twirling in his eyes like a wild breeze. ‘Wouldn’t take you for a fan of shot put, Jones.’

 _Touché_ , Jessica mused to herself. She closed the door and stood in front of it for a few seconds, coming to the belated realisation that she was smiling.

Loki was a strange man. There was something amiss about him that she couldn’t quite place yet. On the other hand, he was also the first person in a long time that didn’t annoy the hell out of her – or rather, the first that also did something else. Something that made her think she wouldn’t mind talking to him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas, everyone!
> 
> This is my FrostIron Secret Santa Gift, based on the following prompt by SunshineA: "Tattoo Artist!Loki and his regular customer - Loki. Loki gets a tattoo every four-five Months, and always comes to Tony, who is very helpful. They go for a drink once and chemistry happens."
> 
> It will be completely different from the prompt, so I really hope SunshineA will like it anyway. It wasn't planned, really, I wanted to follow the prompt and only write 5k or so… and then it got out of hand. This monster has now ten chapters and isn't finished yet. I'll be uploading one chapter per week, so I have enough time (hopefully) to finish it!
> 
> Just so you know, the age difference is quite big (Loki is thirty-two, Tony is nineteen), dark themes are tackled, and people die. I won't say much more and the tags aren't very helpful, but I don't want to spoil all the fun. On a side note, it's the first fic I ever post doing all the proof-reading by myself, so please, bear with me (it's not too bad, I hope). Well, stay tuned and see you next week. ;)
> 
> Also, if you like the way I write and you would like to read more of my original stuff, please support me by following me and voting/commenting my stories on Wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/user/MrEvilside
> 
> Have a happy New Year!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki meets the most famous tattoo artist of Hell's Kitchen and makes fun of ridiculous tattoo studio name choices.

 

The look of displeasure returned to Loki’s face as he observed the front of the tattoo studio. Of course, he knew finding him wouldn’t be easy. The boy wouldn’t have been able to stay off the grid for two years if he had had the reputation of the most famous tattoo artist of Hell’s Kitchen. The man already expected that much, but one was still allowed to hope. So much for that now.

He had to give it to the owner, the place looked quite impressive. The glass walls were covered in black tribal designs, the name of the studio standing out bigger than the rest, a beautiful flourish saying _The Guardians Of The Galaxy_. A preposterous name, in his opinion, though it did serve the purpose of sticking in one’s mind.

Other than decorative, the choice of glass was clever and, in his case, advantageous.

Through the panels, Loki could see colourful pictures of skilfully inked bodies, contrasting with the bright whiteness of the waiting room.

Sat behind a long oak desk matching the wooden floor, a woman was typing something on a computer, most likely some appointment details. Her hair was dyed an uncommon shade of purple that, together with her eerie green eye makeup, suggested a sense of alienation, to some extent fascinating and at the same time intimidating.

Loki inspected the secretary one last time, pretending he was assessing the place instead of her.

He had picked his clothes carefully for the visit: military green cargo trousers, a sleeveless white shirt with Nirvana’s black logo on the front, and a black leather jacket. His hair was pulled back into a ponytail and he was wearing fingerless gloves. If he was going to ask for a tattoo like your average Hell’s Kitchen thug, he might as well look the part.

The woman’s head pivoted in his direction as he pushed the door open and walked in, shooting his surroundings a wary, uncomfortable glance. He widened his eyes when meeting hers, rubbed the back of his neck, and cleared his throat loudly. ‘Uhm, hello.’

‘Hi.’ Her answer was curt and professional. Not much messing around with this one; Loki took note of that. ‘May I help you?’

‘Yes, well…’ The man shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He even licked his lips and made a show of fidgeting for added awkwardness. ‘I’d like to get my first tattoo, but I wanted some advice from a professional first.’

For all her steely composure, her face softened a bit. Loki wished he had another mouth, hidden from her sight, to allow himself a triumphant grin.

‘Of course,’ she said, gentler than before. ‘I can call Peter for you, if you want. He’s our most experienced artist. I’m sure he’ll be glad to answer all your questions.’

‘Thank you.’ The man offered her a sheepish smile. ‘That would be great.’

The secretary curved one corner of her mouth upwards in turn, nodded, and stood up from her chair. She motioned him towards one of the seats aligned against the glass wall. ‘Please, take a seat. I’ll go get him for you.’

She left the room through a door behind the desk. Loki didn’t sit down, though he didn’t have to wait long before the woman came back with Peter Quill in tow.

The tattoo artist sported an easy smile and a smart flicker in his brown eyes. He was a couple of years younger than Loki, but his well-groomed facial hair – styled accurately to seem unkempt – made him look more mature than his age. He wore tattered jeans and a red jacket over a grey pullover.

‘Gamora said you’re going to get your first ink,’ Quill welcomed him, nodding towards the secretary, who was already back to her working station. ‘And you had some questions for me?’

Loki reciprocated his smile with the same self-confident comfort, dropping his shy façade as if shrugging off a coat. He recognised the other man from the pictures he’d seen online the night before, when he googled the studio address. He reached into his pocket, pulled out his ID, and showed it to Quill.

‘Yes,’ he replied, his tone light and amused as he watched confusion and horror flash across both the tattoo artist’s and the secretary’s features. ‘I do have questions, although, alas, they don’t concern your profession. Not in the way you think, in any case.’

When he recovered from the initial shock, every sign of expression drained from Quill’s face. He was just as astute as he looked, despite the laid-back attitude. ‘I think you’ve got the wrong place, man. I don’t know what you’re looking for, but I run a respectful business and I don’t want problems.’

‘I’m looking for someone,’ said Loki, gravity suddenly replacing hilarity, though he was still enjoying himself. The reactions to his fake police badge were always delightful; he loved the sheer terror that seized even the most innocent individual. There were some perks of working for a wealthy employer, like getting new, hilarious aliases for free. ‘But you’re right, I’m in the wrong place. I was hoping you’d help me find the right one.’

The other man fixed him with a pensive glance. Loki could imagine the gears in his head turn furiously while he weighed his options. Then Quill asked, ‘Who is it?’

‘Tony Stark.’

Behind the desk, Gamora’s eyes darted between them, angry and restless as her hands twitched, but she didn’t dare to make a single move. Loki praised her, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. _Smart girl_.

Quill stiffened at the name. It was a minute change, yet the other man didn’t miss it. The tattoo artist also barked out a nonchalant laugh, but it was too late. ‘Well, buddy, sorry to be a bummer, but the wild hunt for that boy ended, like, ages ago. Anyway, I have to give you some credit for your creativity. I mean, why would that smartass hide in a tattoo studio of all places? Last time I checked, he had a thing for tech, not ink.’

‘Just tell me what you know, please,’ Loki countered, graceful in his authoritative boredom. He didn’t need to explain to Quill where he got his intel. ‘Neither of us wants me to get pissed, right? I could have a warrant on my desk by this afternoon, but I’m sure I wouldn’t like what I’d find here, so why don’t you spare us both the trouble? What is Tony Stark to you, after all?’

Uncovering the dirt under the glossy surface of _The Guardians Of The Galaxy_ had been a matter of hours. The studio was in one hell of a location – pun intended – in terms of criminal activity, and the bad guys were superstitious, as though burrowing under layers of ink would somehow keep them out of prison. Besides, it wasn’t like Quill was hiding. He probably slipped some corrupt cop a cheque or two to keep things quiet about the darkest shades of his business. It had been child’s play.

Shoving his hands into his pockets with the same grim satisfaction with which, no doubt, he would punch Loki in the gut, Quill locked eyes with Gamora for the briefest moment, then he bent his head down, scratched the back of his neck in a flare of irritation, and eventually gave up.

‘He stayed here for a couple of weeks,’ he admitted, crossing his muscular arms across his chest and glaring at Loki with open defiance. ‘It was two years ago, when Stark Industries were turning the city inside out to get him back. Stark got in touch with a friend and left. I haven’t heard shit from him since. That’s all I know.’

Loki lifted his eyebrows, but didn’t press him for more details. It wasn’t vital. He only needed one more answer. ‘What’s the name of this friend?’

‘Look, man, I…’

Loki’s impatient foot tapping the ground cut the other man off.

Loki hated when they tried to stall him for two reasons: one, they assumed he was an idiot, which was insulting; two, it was inevitable that some time would go wasted in the process.

Quill held Loki’s no-nonsense gaze for a long stretch of silence that got the other man thinking he would have to rely on less friendly means of persuasion. Instead, the tattoo artist sighed in defeat. ‘Okay, okay. But you won’t tell anyone you got the name from me and, if I see your ass within five hundred feet from here ever again, you’ll regret it.’

Loki refrained from rolling his eyes.

Quill hesitated again. He must be a friend of that Stark’s friend if getting him into trouble was proving so hard. Or maybe the friend, too, was involved in the none-too-legal activities of Quill’s tattoo studio. Loki was already looking forward to meeting such a mysterious character.

At last, the other man complied. ‘Rogers. He was looking for Steve Rogers.’

Loki checked his expression for any trace of deceit before patting Quill on the shoulder, his smile splitting his face in half when the tattoo artist tensed under his touch.

‘See?’ Loki said, cheerful. ‘Was it really that difficult?’

 

Steven Rogers, twenty-eight years old, turned out to be far from mysterious or interesting. He was another tattoo artist, which explained why Quill didn’t want to give his name – a sense of community, most likely. He owned a studio in Hell’s Kitchen, too, though it was further from Loki’s apartment than _The Guardians Of The Galaxy_. The journey was a hassle, but it would also make it harder to follow him back to his condo.

Under the threat of a real property search, Quill had sworn to keep his silence. Nevertheless, Loki went to check on the place on the same day anyway, to make sure Rogers wasn’t already packing up. He didn’t trust dodgy tattoo artists, so sue him.

 _Captain America_ – seriously, what was it with the embarrassing names? – was a small studio on the ground floor of an average three-storey brick building from the 1960s. By the time Loki arrived, it was getting dark, but the lights were still on. As he walked by the windows and casually peered inside, head down and hands in his trousers, he caught a glimpse of a small space. Despite being not even half the size of Quill’s waiting room, it looked familiar and warm. The furniture was scarce and the only decorations were band posters stuck to the walls and pieces of Rogers’s equipment lying around, even though they were arranged methodically on the shelves of a salon trolley for the most part.

A man was sitting on the tattoo chair, his arm outstretched as a young artist was inking his shoulder. For all his considerable bulk, the customer was sweating, his face livid and his knuckles white from clenching his fists.

An amused smile danced over Loki’s lips for a second before he focused on the artist. Toned physique, blonde hair, and blue eyes, Rogers looked like he came straight out of a fairy tale. Or a top-shelf magazine for women, depending on tastes.

No Tony Stark in sight, which was just his usual – lack of – luck, not that it would have mattered if he had been there. Ahead of Loki lay many days of stakeout before he would feel confident enough to try some sort of approach. He also had to wait some time to ensure Quill stood true to his word.

Looking away from the window to avoid being caught, even though Rogers was caught up in his job and the streets were empty, Loki hunched his shoulders against the cold evening breeze and headed for the nearest subway station. He wanted to go home and call it a day, as he was in dire need of dinner and a shower.

He was also looking forward to taking off those ridiculous clothes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year, everyone! I hope you had fun last night. :)
> 
> Also, have some Loki! I promise there will be Tony in the next chapter and even some Tony-Loki interaction. ;)
> 
> I hope you still found this one enjoyable! I'd love if you wanted to leave kudos/comments, and thanks a lot to those that have already done so. It means a lot. :)
> 
> Until next week!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony grows a goatee and meets a new customer.

Placing his hands on the edge of the washbasin for support, Tony leant towards the mirror and turned his head from side to side to give his goatee a thorough examination. He’d been growing it for a few months after more than a year of painful, forced facial hairlessness.

When they were still turning every stone in New York to find him, changing his looks had been the obvious thing to do, but even the most stubborn had long since abandoned the research, and, if any customer recognised him, they kept it to themselves out of solidarity towards someone they now considered part of their community.

Tony wasn’t the spoilt Stark brat anymore, not after breathing, eating, and pissing Hell’s Kitchen for two years.

Pleased with his grooming skills, he flashed himself his trademark charming smile in the mirror. Indeed, the goatee made him look so much more _him_.

He returned to his bedroom, replaced his pyjama pants with jeans and an Iron Maiden T-shirt, and eventually went downstairs. He lived with Steve in the flat above the tattoo studio. Even though the whole place was smaller than his old bedroom at Stark Mansion, Tony had never felt as proud as the first time he’d paid half the rent out of his own pocket, using the money he’d earned with his tattoos.

He was still technically Steve’s apprentice and a long way away from getting a license, but he had his own clients, and he and Steve worked rotating shifts now. It had been a while since he’d kissed goodbye to cleaning up and taking out the trash while the older artist got to do the real shit.

On Tuesdays and Thursdays he was in charge of the shop until lunchtime. That Thursday, he spent the remaining hour or so before opening time washing his tattoo kit and sweeping the floor.

Mornings were usually pretty dull: the most he had to do was take appointments on the phone, but, on the bright side, he got plenty of time to scribble new designs for his portfolio.

He was working on a steampunk set of gears overlapping each other to form a triangle – a piece he’d been developing for a few weeks – when his attention was drawn to the door by the chime of the bell.

A tall man in his early thirties sauntered inside in long, cadenced strides, as if he measured each step. Dark hair framed an angular face as white as the locks were black, although the autumn wind had messed up a bit of both: his cheeks and the tip of his nose were flushed a tenuous pink, while his ebony strands were tousled. He wore a long black coat and a green scarf patterned with gold stripes on the border. They were unassuming, but expensive garments; Tony could tell the guy put some effort into his looks. However, in Tony’s completely disinterested opinion, he would be attractive in a bin liner.

When the man’s attention shifted from the designs on the walls to settle on him, Tony saw his eyes. Calculating, disturbing, beautiful. _Green_. Two out of four of those adjectives weren’t exactly complimentary, yet they seemed to fit the stranger’s beauty.

It was an ugly, dangerous kind of beauty.

‘Hi,’ Tony greeted him, his best customer service smile plastered on his face. ‘Can I help you?’

He might or might not add _With anything, really, not just tattoos_ in his head. It wasn’t like the man was ever going to find out.

‘I think so.’

Tony couldn’t locate the stranger’s English accent, as he’d never been to England. On those thin lips, it sounded rich and pretentious, not in an unpleasant way.

‘I plan to get my first ink.’ The guy wandered over to the counter and stole a curious glance at Tony’s sketches before locking eyes with him again. ‘Are you the artist?’

‘There’s two of us,’ Tony explained with a nod. ‘Me and Steve. He owns the place, I’m his apprentice.’ He realised what that sounded like and rushed to clarify, ‘But I can do tattoos, too. Been doing them for a while, actually. Do you already have an idea of what you want?’

The other man curled his lips into a small smile. Tony was seventy-three percent sure he had to contain himself because an outright beam would be declared a threat to anyone’s sanity.

‘I’m not very good at drawing,’ admitted the stranger, ‘but I can describe it. May I take a look at some samples of your art first, please?’

‘Yes, of course. Hang on…’ Tony crouched down to search the shelves underneath the countertop, and pulled out two albums with his and Steve’s name on the cover. He offered them to the man. ‘These are our portfolios. You can flip through them and choose the style you like best.’ He gestured towards the plastic chairs huddled against a wall. ‘Make yourself at home.’

The stranger turned to inspect the seats, but didn’t move towards them. He put the albums on the counter and opened the first one. ‘Do you mind if I stand?’

Tony shrugged. He didn’t really care. ‘Yeah, sure.’

As the guy studied Steve’s artwork, he went back to his own design, although he couldn’t help but check on him furtively from time to time.

At first it was to see if he was still going through Steve’s tattoos; when the man discarded his portfolio and took Tony’s instead, the tattoo artist couldn’t even pretend he was paying attention to his own sketch anymore. He kept drawing just so the guy wouldn’t think he was staring at him like a creeper, except it was precisely what he was doing, while expectation and curiosity held his breath.

Maybe he was a bit competitive and maybe he wanted the stranger to pick him over Steve. So what? He had pride and ambition, and didn’t give two shits about anyone else’s opinion on the matter.

‘Have these been inked or are they just for show?’

The man’s piercing green eyes searching for his own dragged him out of his reverie. He almost jumped, afraid to get caught, but, if the guy did notice his staring, his face showed no sign of it.

‘I inked a lot of them,’ Tony declared without bothering to hide his smugness. He pointed at a few pieces on the page the stranger was on, and didn’t miss the pleased look on his face.

When the man’s gaze slid down towards the steampunk design, Tony knew two things.

One: the guy had been hooked by that one since he’d first seen it, and probably checked Steve’s stuff just to be polite.

Two: he had a new client.

‘I’d like something similar to that. A symbol,’ said the stranger, leaning down to take a closer look at the drawing.

The motion made Tony suddenly conscious of his impressive height and of their proximity as they both bent over his sketchbook. He peered at the man, but he seemed focused on the artwork.

‘I want two snakes intertwined to form an S, biting each other’s tail, and a steampunk clock overlapping them, if that makes sense.’

For some reason, the tattoo held a meaning that went far beyond appearance. Tony sensed it in the way he spoke, unexpectedly hesitant – for all the self-confidence he exuded – as he struggled to be accurate, his brow corrugated and his lips pursed. The expression accentuated the lines around his eyes and mouth, making him look older, less attractive. Tony found it enticing. Human, underneath his mask of unreadable politeness.

The guy looked up at him as the artist was still captivated by his face. This time, Tony couldn’t fool himself that his shameless way of checking him out went unnoticed. Once more, however, the man didn’t comment on it. He didn’t seem annoyed.

‘It makes a lot of sense, don’t worry,’ Tony reassured him, when the silence stretched out for too long to be still comfortable. ‘Where do you want it?’

‘On my lower back.’

A tramp stamp, Tony’s brain translated into tattoo lingo. It also provided a particularly vivid image of the guy lying prone on the tattoo chair, naked from the waist up, at which point Tony made the convenient decision to shut his whole, far too creative system down.

‘Okay, no problem.’ He nodded, more to himself than to his client, as he envisioned the design instead of the canvas. ‘I can work on something and send you my sketches via e-mail, if you want. This way you would only have to come back here on the day you want to get inked.’

He didn’t ask if the guy wanted him or not. At that point, faking modesty would be pointless.

‘That would be perfect. Do you have anything to write down my address?’

The guy paid the deposit and they exchanged their contacts. When Tony made to add him to his list of customers for the first available date they’d just agreed upon, he paused and stared up at the stranger, giving him a lopsided smile. ‘Hey, sorry, I didn’t catch your name.’

‘Lucky.’

The man spelt it out for him, quick and precise like a shotgun. His perfect façade clicked back into place letter by letter. Tony jotted it down on his agenda and edited the contact page on his phone, too. He fixed the guy with a curious glance. ‘Is that your real name?’

Lucky was unperturbed. His explanation was automatic, as if he had to deliver the same one on a regular basis, ‘I come from a superstitious family.’ Checking the time on his own mobile, he continued, ‘I’m afraid I have to go now. But I will see you next week, I suppose?’

Tony’s smile couldn’t bare more teeth, broad and eager as it was. His fingers already itched with the urge to pick up a pencil and start doodling the man’s piece. It never ceased to fill him with giddy delight when a customer chose _him_ – his skill, his art, not his money or his family name.

It felt so goddamn _good_ to be free of Howard’s shadow.

Lucky’s decision also bore a somewhat solemn connotation: he elected Tony to be the first one to mark his skin. It was a new sensation, as newbies usually felt safer choosing Steve, based on his longer experience.

‘Sure. If you aren’t happy with the design yet by then, you can still come and have a chat about it in person, and we can reschedule the appointment.’ He picked up a card from a pile on the counter and handed it to his client. ‘These are aftercare instructions and a few tips if you want to buy a numbing cream. It actually works, you know, for the first hour, maybe an hour and a half. Your tattoo won’t take too long, so it’s worth it if you’re afraid of the pain.’

‘Oh.’ Lucky’s lips curved up into a knowing grin, as if he was privy to some secret Tony was oblivious to. ‘Don’t worry. I don’t fear pain.’

The artist mirrored his expression with a condescending smirk. ‘You know, I’ve heard bigger men say the same and start crying as soon as they saw the needle.’

‘Trust me,’ his customer insisted. On that matter, at least, Tony did. Something in Lucky’s piercing eyes convinced him along with what he said next, ‘There are worse things to fear than pain.’

This time, Tony was so ensnared by his stare that the silence, however long, didn’t make him uneasy. It just was, and he was looking at Lucky and Lucky was looking back and he was peeling Tony’s skin off and he would see his soul, Tony knew, but would he peel that off, too?

It was Lucky himself to break the spell, making the boy snap back to the present. ‘I will wait for your e-mail, if that’s all.’

‘Yes.’ Tony’s mouth was dry and he felt an indecipherable taste on the tip of his tongue, an odd mixture of discomfort and inebriation. ‘I’ll be in touch.’

Lucky’s parting smile was as cutting as his words.

_There are worse things to fear than pain._

_  
_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a lucky 2016, everyone! (Pun intended.)
> 
> As promised, you've had your first taste of proper (pre-)FrostIron interaction that I hope you've all enjoyed. :D Thank you for subscribing and leaving kudos, you were amazing! I'd be grateful if you also had the time to leave a comment, since I'm always open to questions/chitchatting/whatever regarding this story. But thanks, the response to this has been huge, considering I've just posted the third chapter!
> 
> Speaking of which, I finished chapter 10 and I'm now working on chapter 11. I think the story will be between fifteen and twenty chapters long, so hopefully I'll get to the end before I run out of chapters to post. However, university has started again, so I won't be able to write as much as during the holidays! Please bear with me!
> 
> Last but not least, today it's quite a big day in terms of writing: I've also just updated my original novel, "Story", on Wattpad. It's a meta-novel written in the second person, so you are the main characters. The main genre is fantasy and it looks a bit like a videogame, so if you fancy giving it a try, you can find it on Wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/myworks/55470622-story
> 
> Sorry for the shameless spam, but you do what you can for your lil' monsters (read: stories), right? :P
> 
> See you next week!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki gets a call, and Tony and Steve are scared shitless.

The familiar buzz of his phone distracted Loki from his watch.

Two weeks earlier, he’d rented a room in the B&B nearby Stark and Rogers’s studio. From the fourth floor, he had a perfect view of _Captain America_ , whereas neither of the two artists would spot him unless they had a reason to look at the top of the shabby building, which he deemed quite unlikely.

Under any other circumstance, Loki wouldn’t have even had his phone on him while he was working, but this time it was an essential aspect of the job.

A cunning smile spread idly across his face when he tapped on the Mail icon and found a new message from Tony. It contained a handful of straight-to-the-point lines and an attachment.

_You are an insufferable perfectionist. How does it look now?_

Loki opened the file and found a picture of his custom design.

Or, to be more precise, of the seventy-second sketch of his custom design.

The previous five days had seen a rapid-fire exchange of drafts and corrections, as Tony tried his best to meet Loki’s demands and Loki tried his best to be a pain in the ass, which he excelled at, in his own humble opinion.

Thus far, it was working well, if he could say so himself.

Loki’s phone had vibrated with Tony’s first shot at the design the very day after his visit to the studio. Loki had to admit to his own recklessness in sending the artist a caustic response that bordered on offensive. However, he remembered the look in Tony’s eyes – the defiance, the _fire_ – and he knew the boy would not disappoint.

As per usual, his hazardous manoeuvre had played out to his advantage. It was the reason why not only was he good at his job, but also better than his colleagues: he dared to take risks, consequences be damned.

Tony could have refused to put up with his shit after that initial comment. After a few more messages, he could have even taken offense and suggested Loki went to someone else, if his “disappointing disregard for details” was really so aggravating.

Instead, the harder Loki bit, the harder Tony pushed back, stubbornly drawing its way towards his customer’s demanding concept of perfection.

At some point, Loki realised he was having _fun_. Tony’s answers came through at an impressive rate that only a teenager could master, but Loki’s were almost as fast. Finishing the job became a profitable yet almost casual outcome rather than a stimulus. For the most part, he was driven by the sheer desire to see how far he could go before the kid broke.

Tony didn’t break. And Loki liked him even more for that.

Right now, as he regarded the latest sketch, he considered making another unsatisfied remark. He was tired of the game, though. As entertaining as it was, it had already exhausted its purpose of earning the artist’s interest. The appointment was scheduled for the following day, but Loki was sure it wouldn’t be their last meeting. He would have many more occasions to poke and prod until he found what made Tony tick.

He started typing up his reply, when the phone trembled again between his fingers.

This time, it was a call.

Loki brought the device to his ear and greeted in a bored tone, ‘You’re late.’

The voice on the other end was equally late, as the owner recovered from the initial bewilderment. ‘What for?’

‘I’ve been expecting you to get in touch for a week now.’

‘I didn’t think you’d make progress so fast.’

‘Ouch. Rude,’ said Loki, unimpressed.

The caller kept a light, pleasant tone, although Loki could almost touch his anticipation. Or slash it with a knife. ‘I assume you’ve found him, then?’

‘That I have,’ the man confirmed, a small smirk dancing on his lips. He wondered for how long the other would let him get away with fooling around in such a blatant fashion.

‘Well?’

Not so long, then. A pity.

‘As I told you when you offered me the job, it requires time and dedication. If you had only asked me to kill him…’

‘Unfortunately, as we have already discussed, that wouldn’t do,’ sighed his employer, sweet to the point of sickness, a jarring contrast with the brutality with which he cut Loki off.

He didn’t take offense. He was enjoying that little diversion, although he still kept a watchful eye on the window of the studio. He could see Tony behind the counter at the front, engaged in lively conversation with a customer that had him speak at the speed of lightning while gesturing wildly. Loki’s malicious smirk turned into an indulgent smile, although it didn’t lose its sharp edge, while he idly toyed with various speculations about the topic that was making that brilliant mind race even faster than usual.

‘I understand,’ he replied, gracious. ‘However, as we have already discussed indeed, you will have to be patient, if you aren’t willing to change your terms.’

‘Fine.’ To his credit, the caller was almost as good as Loki at coating his true feelings with a sugary glaze of fake politeness. ‘You can have your time, but, please, do remember it’s also my money.’

_Stark’s money_ , Loki corrected him, _used to destroy him._

‘Sure,’ he said out loud. ‘I will be in touch.’

He hung up, just like that, because he knew it would piss his employer off, and he enjoyed the mental image immensely. He reopened Tony’s e-mail and finished typing his answer. _Yes, this will do._

 

In the beginning, Tony thought Lucky was hot. After a week of daily interaction, he thought the guy was quick-witted, clever, and funny.

He also thought he was a presumptuous piece of shit.

As a result, the day of Lucky’s appointment came as both a relief and a disappointment. Tony was positive he wouldn’t be able to handle any other petulant criticism on his artwork without an intense psychotherapy session first, but at the same time he’d miss the excuse to talk to Lucky so often. In fact, he’d miss Lucky, period.

‘… Tony, are you okay?’

Startled by Steve’s concerned question, Tony arched an interrogative eyebrow at him. ‘What do you mean? I’m peachy.’

His friend looked down at his hands. ‘This is the third time you sterilise that needle. I’m pretty sure you’ve neutralised the risk of infecting anyone for the next ten years.’

The boy put the incriminated instrument away and crossed his arms over his chest. He called his expression a “manly grimace,” but it was, in fact, just a stubborn pout. ‘I’m not nervous. When have I ever been nervous?’

‘You’re right. You’re never nervous.’ Steve’s eyes were suspiciously piercing. ‘So, what makes this guy so special?’

Tony considered eluding the question, but, if the other artist’s unwavering gaze was anything to go by, Steve would just keep insisting. There was no point in prolonging a torture he wasn’t going to escape anyway.

‘He’s just…’ He threw his hands above his head, words failing him. No language could describe Lucky and it wasn’t necessarily a positive thing. ‘He’s impossible. He piled so much shit on my design I honestly thought he was going to tell me he’d go to another artist. But no, His Highness finally expressed his satisfaction yesterday and now he’s coming and I’m… well, what if he’s pissed with the result? I mean, I put so much effort into it even if he was such an asshole…’

He hadn’t asked Lucky about the meaning of the tattoo yet, but he’d devoted so much energy to it over the past days that he’d grown fond of it, too, despite for different reasons. If the man didn’t like it once it was etched into his skin, Tony would be truly sorry rather than embarrassed. Okay, so maybe he _was_ a little bit anxious, but only because he wasn’t used to feelings. _Feelings._ Ew.

Much to his bewilderment, Steve didn’t answer him. He wasn’t even looking at him. Tony noticed he blanched a little.

Following his friend’s gaze, the boy turned around and saw Lucky standing half-way between the door and the counter. He was watching Tony with the most indecipherable expression in the history of indecipherable expressions. Which might or might not almost make Tony pee himself.

What was absolutely terrifying, though, was the smile of pure _delight_ that suddenly spread over Lucky’s face. As if walking into a shop to be called an asshole just made his day.

When their eyes locked, Tony’s saliva had a hard time going past the tight knot in his throat. His customer clutched a hand over his heart and announced, ‘I’m touched.’

‘Good morning, sir,’ Steve greeted him, his voice weak and his smile glued to his face with spit and shame. ‘I know you have an appointment with Tony. I will leave you to it.’

He pointed at the door behind his shoulders, where they kept the tattoo chair and the rest of their equipment. He was obviously trying to leave Tony alone with his own mess as soon as possible. Traitorous bastard.

Lucky turned his smirk on him, making the guy cringe a little – _you got what you deserve, asshole_ – then, all too soon, looked back at Tony expectantly. ‘Shall we?’

The boy almost had to punch himself to avert his mind from the desire to kick Steve. He cleared his throat and imposed himself to play it cool. ‘Sure, come with me,’ he said, motioning for his customer to follow him as he turned away and made a beeline for the other room.

After he closed the door behind them, Tony figured he owed the man an apology. ‘Look,’ he started, but Lucky interrupted him.

‘Funny that you would not do that yourself.’

On instinct, the boy lifted his eyes from the floor he was so busy scrutinising, but didn’t expect the sight he came across. The guy was watching him, too, a lazy smile painted on his face. It did things to Tony.

_Fuck, he’s hot._

But he was also older. He didn’t know the precise age difference; anyway, according to his educated guess, Lucky was at some point in his late twenties or, more likely, his early thirties. Tony wasn’t accustomed to shyness, when it came to flirting, but he had never experienced rejection and he didn’t intend to start with a man more than ten years older than him. It would be ridiculous, for God’s sake.

‘I, uh, I didn’t mean what I said,’ he blurted out, if anything because stuffing his mouth with words was a better alternative to gaping at his customer like an idiot. ‘I was just…’

‘Please.’ Lucky lifted up his hand to stop the artist’s rant. ‘It isn’t like I didn’t deserve it. I gave you quite a hard time.’

‘Yeah, well…’ Tony waited for his brain to come up with something nice to change the topic. Too bad “nice” and “Tony Stark” didn’t really work well together. ‘To be honest, yes, you were a total pain. Sometimes I just wanted to tell you to fuck yourself, and quit.’

He would never have dared to tell that to a regular client. However, he felt like he’d crossed that line with Lucky at the beginning of their online correspondence. They weren’t just customer and artist anymore, but they weren’t friends, either. Despite not talking about anything but Lucky’s design, he’d enjoyed their sarcastic back and forth like he hadn’t done since Jarv––in a while.

So, what were they, then?

‘I suppose that’s understandable.’ Lucky shrugged. If one was to judge from his casual demeanour, it looked a lot like the guy was on the receiving end of violent threats on a daily basis. ‘I will not apologise for it, though. It was worth it. You made something truly beautiful.’

It wasn’t what he said. It wasn’t even how he said it. It was the way he looked at Tony as he did.

Whatever they had between them, the boy would miss it.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys!
> 
> First of all, I'd like to thank you for the amazing response "Exploring Ethnic Differences" received in less than two days! It gave a definite boost to my self-confidence regarding my smut-writing abilities, which may or may not mean the rating of HMS will be more likely to go up in future chapters. :D
> 
> I'm sorry if this story is a bit slow-building, I hope you enjoy it more now that Tony and Loki get much more time together as the plot develops…
> 
> Please, let me know what you think if you feel like it, I'd love to chat. :)
> 
> See you next week!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jessica is sleeping peacefully, until she isn't.

 

Jessica was sleeping.

It was good. Peaceful, even, despite the uncomfortable position. She was also a bit cold, but couldn’t find the sheets.

However, they were minor discomforts, compared to the migraine that exploded in her head when some motherfucker had the brilliant idea to shake her awake. ‘Jones? Jessica, are you alive?’

She brought her hands to cover her face and emitted an indescribable guttural sound, part moan, part growl. ‘Of course I am, idiotic piece of shit. What the fuck are you doing in my apartment?’

‘Jones.’ She didn’t need to see the man’s face to know he raised an eyebrow. ‘You’re in the lift. You passed out.’

‘Hell no, I didn’t,’ the woman babbled, because she wanted to contradict him, not because she actually believed it. Her tongue and brain were sticky with alcohol. Too much alcohol. Shit.

She waited for her neighbour – she wasn’t sure who it was yet, only that it was a man, so either Ruben, Malcolm, or Loki – to help her up. It didn’t happen. She lowered her hands and glared upwards, uncertain where his face was, because the elevator was too fucking bright and she was too fucking hungover.

‘Going to give me a hand any time soon?’ Finally, it clicked. _Lift_ , not _elevator_. British. ‘… Loki,’ she added in a half-assed attempt at pretending she wasn’t so far gone she couldn’t even remember names.

‘Sorry, I can’t bend over,’ Loki answered. He was coming into focus, little by little, and his ridiculous justification helped Jessica clear up her mind faster, because that wasn’t the most awkward choice of words ever. Not one bit.

The man must read it on her face, for he supplied helpfully, ‘I’ve just got inked on my back. I don’t want to ruin it.’

It was a sensible reason. Or it would be if she were sober enough to appreciate the logic. She groaned and pulled herself to her feet. She swayed, struggling to make her legs work, but they didn’t cooperate and she would have careened into the wall if Loki hadn’t grabbed her by the arm to steady her. She grunted her gratitude, stuffed her hands into her pockets, and rested one shoulder against the wall of the elevator as her neighbour pushed the buttons for her floor and his own.

‘I didn’t think you’d actually get it,’ she said, rubbing the back of her hand over her eyes. God, they stung. Stupid booze. ‘The tattoo, I mean. You look so… proper. British proper.’

One corner of the man’s mouth quirked up in amusement. ‘Tattoos are very popular in England.’

‘You know what I mean, asshole,’ she hissed, then she pushed some strands of unruly hair away from her face and sighed. ‘Sorry. I’m horrible when I’m drunk.’

‘You’re horrible all the time.’

Loki didn’t even sound offensive. His tone was plain, matter-of-fact, though tinged with barely noticeable mirth. Jessica felt it seep underneath her skin and tug at her lips. She hadn’t smiled and meant it in a while. She didn’t now, but it was damn close. How did even do that?

‘Well, then I’m _worse_ ,’ she muttered, albeit some of his amusement slipped in her voice, too, much to her chagrin.

For a while, all she heard was her head throbbing. To counter that aggravating noise, she broke the silence again. They didn’t look at each other as she spoke, instead staring at the metal double door.

To be precise, she was _glowering_ at it. Why in the world would she rekindle a dead conversation of her own will? She was usually the one to tell people to shut up. Why was it different with Loki?

Then again, many things were different with Loki.

‘Did you, uh…’ Friendliness was hard enough already and the hangover wasn’t helping. ‘Did you go to _The Guardians Of The Galaxy_?’

‘Yes. I talked to Quill, but, when I told him what I wanted, he suggested a friend of his.’

The bell dinged to signal their arrival on the first floor and the door slid open with a rusty hiss that screamed _shitty maintenance_. Jessica looked at the entrance of her apartment at the end of the corridor. It was miles away. She made a face and started towards it, mentally bracing herself for a painful, slow, and humiliating crawl, when she felt Loki’s strong fingers around her upper arm again.

He didn’t say anything, just walked her to the flat in silence.

She stared up at him, a biting comment on the tip of her tongue, but she swallowed it and inspected his profile instead – his thin nose, the sharp shape of his chin, the cheekbones protruding from his bony face, as if to cut through that paper-thin skin. Up close, she noticed the lines of dissatisfaction around his penetrating eyes.

‘Here.’ He used his free hand to unlock the door from the inside and pushed it open. ‘Can you get to bed without killing yourself?’

Despite gently manhandling her into the apartment, he didn’t move to follow. Jessica wondered if he still remembered their first meeting, when she hadn’t invited him in.

‘Do you want a drink?’ She motioned towards her office with her head.

One of Loki’s eyebrows rose. The other soon followed, as though the man belatedly realised one wasn’t enough to convey his incredulity. ‘You’re still hungover and it’s two in the morning.’

‘You said it yourself.’ She offered an unconcerned one-shouldered shrug. ‘I’m already hungover, so it can’t get any worse. You sure you don’t want some?’

She stopped short of commenting _You look like you need it_ , but the way her neighbour tilted his head to the side and fixed her with a calculating glance spoke volumes of what he understood. Jessica was reminded of her first impression of him. Loki was a strange man.

Maybe a dangerous one, too.

After an oddly heavy stretch of silence, the tension eased from his stance and he stepped over the threshold. ‘Let me be clear, though: we are _not_ having sex tonight. I will not have my tattoo compromised and you will not throw up on my naked body.’

She made sure to snort as loudly as possible and turned to lead the way inside the flat. However, she also pinched her lips together. Maybe she was a tad disappointed. So what? She had eyes – not to mention the embarrassing amount of sexual frustration, fuelled by the pictures of Luke she kept taking despite herself.

As she shuffled into the kitchen to get a bottle and two glasses, Loki remained in the office. She ignored the voice telling her to check on him and even made an effort to lessen her frown, if not to get rid of it. She asked the man to stay in the first place, it was stupid to act like she didn’t want him there now.

Her neighbour read the label of the bottle she brought with her – Winston Supreme Canadian Whisky, good shit – and accepted his glass in silence. He took a sip with all the grace Jessica lacked as she tipped her head back and emptied her glass in a single, noisy swig.

‘So…’ She put it down on her desk to refill it and wiped her mouth with the back of her other hand. ‘What’s up with you?’

Loki’s expression didn’t falter. He took his time drinking before deigning a response. He was good at acting, except his tone was a little too guarded. ‘What do you mean?’

‘C’mon.’ Jessica scoffed and rolled her eyes at the ceiling. ‘I’m not an idiot.’

‘Are you?’ the man challenged her with a small smile, but she didn’t raise to the bait. Confronted with her stubborn stare, he heaved a sigh and finished his whisky. ‘Why does it matter to you?’

‘Because you’re my new neighbour and I’m trying to get to know you better?’ she tried, throwing in a casual shrug for added innocence.

It was Loki’s turn to scoff, which he proceeded to do in the most theatrical way possible to ensure he got his point across. Her second eye-roll proved his success.

‘I know what you do for a living, Jessica Jones. You’re an investigator. So excuse me if I’m a bit wary of sharing my private life with someone whose job is to take it apart.’

Understandable, she had to give him that. Also perfect to sidetrack her into feeling guilty. That part kind of worked, in spite of her knowing it was trickery. She was indeed taking apart every single word of his, after all.

 _It’s your fault_ , a voice whispered in her ear, light as a caress. Disturbing. Poisonous. Kilgrave’s voice.

She went rigid, a statue of fear and anger and revulsion, and fought to keep her emotions in check. Her grip on the bottle strengthened and the glass cracked.

Silence fell again, much heavier than the previous time.

Jessica was watching the surface of her desk without seeing it, but she could feel Loki’s gaze on her. He didn’t move or speak, yet she could imagine what was going through his mind – _crazy, stupid, freak_ – and bit her bottom lip.

 _It’s not my fucking fault_ , she tried to convince herself. It was the only way to regain control of herself and maybe to save her ass before her neighbour judged her completely insane. To say, to think, to believe that _it’s not my fault, it’s his. He did this to me. I didn’t deserve it…_

_Did I?_

She was trembling. She knew she was about to break down, crushed to pieces in place of the bottle of whisky. She tried and tried and tried to convince herself – _it’s not your fault_ – but she was failing miserably, and––

And that was when Loki moved.

It was the simplest of gestures – he walked up to her and plucked the bottle from her steely grasp. He set it next to the glass on the desk and scowled at her. _Scowled_ , like he was her fucking _mother_ or something.

 _No, your mother is dead_ , she reminded herself, _and that’s definitely your––_

That was when Loki spoke, silencing her own thoughts, ‘You’re right. I am quite… distressed. You see, I’ve had an intense week at work and, just when I thought I would finally see some results, I am yet again forced to wait.’ He heaved a tired sigh. ‘It’s rather frustrating.’

Jessica looked at him. Without hostility or hatred; not even the smallest hint of the biting annoyance that was her signature. She simply looked at him, because the voice inside her head – Kilgrave’s voice – was gone.

Because that man chased it away and now held her gaze without any trace of judgement, disapproval, or disappointment. He was just looking back.

She remembered she had vocal cords the second before her staring became weird. ‘What work?’ she asked, her voice raspy, scraping against her throat as if she hadn’t used it for years.

‘Well, now, I thought you figured that out some time ago.’

Her apparent return to some semblance of normality must reassure him, for he gave her a small, less confident version of his mock pout. A sight that was relentlessly worming its way into her personal top five of the most infuriating things in the world – an impressive goal to achieve, considering the long list of candidates.

‘Care to share, Mr. Smartass?’ Jessica prompted him, impatient.

‘Why.’ The pout couldn’t resist any longer; it faded away, replaced by a shit-eating grin. Which was _already_ in the abovementioned top five. ‘I’m a private investigator, of course.’

‘You’re a fucking _what_ now?’ It took the woman a few seconds to work out a sentence that made sense. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

Loki shrugged and replied, easy and conversational, ‘I had yet to decide if I could trust you. I’ve just moved here and it would be very distressing to be forced to sort out a different form of accommodation to cover my tracks if I had to kill you.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What Jessica and Loki drink: http://www.buzzfeed.com/danieldalton/is-it-still-ladies-night


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a crack in a bottle, but Loki doesn't care. He does care that Tony proves to be utterly infuriating.

 

‘Am I supposed to say thank you?’

Jessica’s smile was all teeth and didn’t reach her eyes. Loki didn’t falter. He started the game himself, he might as well play along. ‘When I’m told someone else’s magnanimity spared me a rather gruesome death, I tend to show gratitude, but that may be just me.’

‘Thank you, then,’ the woman replied, without missing a beat, ‘ _asshole_.’

They exchanged a grin; this time, Jessica’s was genuine, too. However, Loki was prepared to the questions that were more than likely to follow.

Once again, his choice was risky. As a matter of fact, “bordering insanity” would be more fitting. To reveal himself to a stranger, especially another investigator, could ruin his entire plan; at the same time, he exposed himself to her _because_ of her job. If he hadn’t, she’d have found out on her own anyway – he didn’t underestimate her skills – and that would have gone even worse. As in deadly worse.

He bore his neighbour’s scrutinising stare with relaxed grace, well aware of the importance of that very moment as well as of his powerlessness. His turn had already come to an end; it was up to Jessica to lead now.

She pushed her hair away from her face as an excuse to break eye contact and pull herself together. Then she searched for his gaze again and asked, ‘So, who are you after then? A cheating husband? I’m guessing you’ve been on a stakeout. I haven’t seen you around much.’

Loki’s lips curled up into an apologetic smile. ‘Good guess, but, unfortunately, I’m bound by a confidentiality agreement.’

He could practically read the word _bullshit_ written across the woman’s forehead, wrinkled by lines of irritation, yet they both knew he was telling the truth, so she let it go with a shrug. ‘Fair enough,’ she said, strangely accommodating, and shot him a knowing smirk. ‘Cheating husband it is, then.’

He didn’t deny nor confirm it, which served to make Jessica feel more confident about her deduction. She’d do less snooping around if she thought she already had the correct answer.

 ‘Wait, was the tattoo part of the job, too?’

Boy, wasn’t that woman clever. Loki had to admit – to himself, at least – that he was impressed. ‘Yes and no,’ he admitted, cocking his head to the side, like a hawk examining its prey after the pleasant discovery that it’s a chubby badger instead of a skinny rat. ‘I needed a good reason to approach my target, but I’d been thinking about getting inked for a while.’

Knowing that was about as much as he would share, Jessica dropped the subject. ‘Can I see it?’

By way of a reply, he turned around and lifted up the hem of his shirt to expose the small of his back, tightly wrapped in cling film. Underneath, the peculiar design was painted black and red with ink and blood on the swollen skin above his tailbone.

Jessica couldn’t help shooting an appreciative look _below_ his tailbone and Loki couldn’t help noticing, but neither of them said anything.

‘Does it mean something?’

The way she forwent any kind of comment, together with her doubtful tone and arched eyebrows, spoke volumes of her opinion. The man didn’t mind. He didn’t want the tattoo to be pretty. In fact, its uncomfortable eccentricity suited him.

‘It does,’ he nodded, ‘but that’s classified, too.’

Jessica huffed and shoved his shoulder. It was supposed to be playful, but it knocked the breath straight out of Loki’s lungs the same way Thor’s _affectionate_ slaps used to do.

Both mirth and colour deserted the woman’s face when he righted himself and pinned her with a cunning stare.

He was more intrigued than shocked. If one were to believe every rumour, Hell’s Kitchen was apparently a melting pot of gifted individuals of all sorts, and Jessica Jones’s unorthodox methods elicited a good number of questions and urban legends. Besides, he most certainly did _not_ imagine the crack of the bottle when the woman’s hold became too fierce.

Loki didn’t believe every rumour, but he wasn’t so foolish to discard them, either.

The two of them watched each other for a long time, both waiting for their opponent’s move, like two panthers standing their respective ground. The simile was appropriate colour-wise, too.

Loki wondered what she saw in him: his training to either mask feelings or fake them had long since turned into a habit and he wouldn’t know what he’d find in a mirror if he bothered to look. Whatever it was, it prompted her to speak again, voice low, gaze focused, fingers twitching to clench into fists should the need arise.

‘What are you going to do?’

Underneath his serene composure, the man was tense. He threw a quick glance at the door as he pondered how fast he’d be able to move before Jessica caught him. However, when he smoothed down his shirt and covered his mouth to stifle a yawn, he looked as innocuous and innocent as could be. ‘Well, I suppose I’ll go to bed. I do have a stakeout to return to in a few hours.’

His neighbour clacked her tongue against the roof of her mouth, sceptical. ‘You’re not going to tell anyone?’

‘Tell what? That a woman hit me so hard I nearly threw up my soul?’ Loki’s eyebrows engaged in a very expressive, very sarcastic dance at his own preposterous suggestion. ‘And to whom, in any case? Even if I had someone to tell, I’d make a fool of myself. Jones, I get it, you don’t want problems. Well, me neither.’

For the briefest moment, the mask of steel upon Jessica’s face fell to reveal the sheer vulnerability of a woman that was desperate to believe him. She shifted her attention to the bottle on the desk and pointed at it with her chin. ‘Take that with you. I’ve got some work to do and that would…’ She scratched a spot behind her ear in quite a brutal fashion. ‘… distract me.’

That settled the matter.

There was gratitude in her guarded expression as she showed him back into the hallway.

And there was definitely a crack in that bottle.

In the solitude of his own apartment, Loki didn’t go to bed straightaway. He took his time to peel the cling film off his midsection, wash the tattoo, and apply the moisturising cream Tony had suggested along with the other aftercare instructions. He let the process last longer than necessary, for it was also his first chance to look at the design by himself.

The large mirror in the bathroom – the only piece of furniture that came with the flat other than the basic furnishings – came in handy for that purpose.

Dressed in a pair of grey baggy sweatpants, Loki contemplated his own reflection in a state he had only experienced as a child, when the world was still made of wonders and miracles.

He was in awe.

The tattoo was magnificent. It was _him_.

Tony had asserted Loki’s identity for him. Skilful, witty, infuriating Tony.

 

_When the needle first perforated his skin, Loki pressed his lips together. It wasn’t excessively painful, but it was by no means pleasant, either. It took him a few minutes to get used to it, the process eased by the companionable silence and the humming of the tattoo machine._

_Maybe Tony felt the tension drain from the man’s body, because only then did he speak. ‘Does it hurt?’_

_‘I believe I’ve already told you,’ Loki sighed, though there was an indulgent smile in his voice. ‘There are worse things than pain.’_

_‘Yeah, I get it…’ If the artist hadn’t been so focused on his work, he’d have rolled his eyes. ‘But that doesn’t mean it’s fun.’_

_‘I don’t mind it.’_

_He could sense something akin to reverence in the way Tony touched his skin – light, delicate brushing of his fingertips over the lines of flesh and ink. It was in his eyes, too, as they traced the path from the nape of Loki’s neck to the waistband of his jeans. Loki didn’t mind indeed._

 

He tore a sheet of cling film off the roll and secured it around his middle with some tape. He went to his bedroom and checked his phone, but he had neither messages nor e-mails.

He lay down on his belly, folded his arms on the pillow, and rested his chin on top of them. He would have to head back to the studio in five hours: even when he had the morning shift, Tony didn’t wake up before nine. Moreover, Loki wasn’t exactly looking forward to an uneventful day of monitoring the artist.

Whatever bullshit they sold on TV, real stakeouts were boring as hell. Loki loathed having to pee in a bottle. If only things had gone according to plan – if only _Tony_ had gone according to plan – he could have been spared the trouble.

Under different circumstances, Loki would have appreciated Tony’s unpredictability. As it was, he found it profoundly upsetting.

 

_Taking the bills Loki put on the counter, Tony made sure they were the correct amount and smiled in approval. ‘Perfect. That’s it, then.’_

_The man draped his scarf over his shoulders. ‘If that is all…’_

_‘Oh, yeah, you’re free to go. Of course, if you need help or you think you have an infection or whatever… well, you know where to find me.’ The artist opened his arms in an obvious gesture that encompassed the whole place. ‘Or you can e-mail or call me. You have my number.’_

_Loki busied himself with buttoning up his coat for longer than necessary, but Tony didn’t say anything else. He waited for him to get ready, and flashed him the kind of impersonal smile he reserved for customers._

_‘Goodbye, then,’ said Loki, the perfect picture of pleasantness._

_But oh, was he annoyed._

_‘See you around,’ Tony replied, cheerful and utterly oblivious to his disappointment._

 

Loki turned his head to the side in order to look over at the phone on his bedside table. Exasperating as it was, the only thing he was left to do was to wait until Tony contacted him again.

_He_ had no intention of doing so. He was thirteen years older than the tattoo artist. Other than being a stab to his pride, taking the initiative had the potential for some serious backfire: Tony might think Loki was making a fool of him, or, worse still, that he intended to take advantage of him. Neither option would endear the boy to him, and Loki didn’t fail. Not at his job.

So, action was out of the question for now. It would be his last resort, in case he didn’t hear from Tony for too long.

Loki’s lips twisted into a self-reproaching smile. He had been so confident in Tony’s reputation as a reckless playboy that he forgot who he was dealing with – Howard Stark’s only son, heir to Stark Industries, and precocious genius. Of course a pretty smile and a few pleasantries wouldn’t lure Tony Stark out of the safe haven he had crafted so carefully over the course of two years, succeeding in escaping even the best investigators Stark Industries could hire.

Loki had read his file, he could list Tony’s numerous achievements by heart, and yet he’d committed the most pathetic, most basic of errors.

He was about to roll onto his back in a fit of rage when he remembered the tattoo. He settled for running both hands through his hair and heaving a long sigh.

_I’m such an idiot._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My faithful readers, I am in need of your help! I have two alternatives for you: I can keep HMS M-rated, or I can write a "bonus" chapter where the rating skyrockets. It would be more of a filler than essential to the main story, so it's up to you to decide. ;)
> 
> I hope you like the story so far! If you decide to leave a comment, you'll make my day… and you get to decide whether you will see smut or not. XD
> 
> Here is my source for what a stakeout is really like: http://www.vice.com/en_uk/read/i-went-on-a-stakeout-with-a-private-investigator-and-learned-about-boredom
> 
> See you next week!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A series of calls and a dreadful e-mail.

 

_Ring, ring, ring._

Unknown number.

_Crap._

‘Who’s this?’

‘Are you Jessica Jones? I have a job for you.’

‘I don’t take jobs from random strangers on the phone, smartass. Where did you even get this number?’

‘Look, I can pay you well and I promise it’s nothing weird. I just need you to dig up some information about someone.’

A pause.

‘If it’s a mafia boss or some other shithead, I swear to God…’

‘No, no, no! I mean, I guess not. How am I supposed to know? That’s why I’m hiring you. To find out.’

‘Who’s this guy?’

‘I’m not sure.’

‘You’re _what_?’

‘I have a hunch.’

‘ _A hunch?!_ ’

‘Well, the guy is shady as hell! If I could just google his name, I wouldn’t fucking call a PI!’

Another pause.

‘What’s this damn alleged name?’

‘… Loki. I’m sixty percent sure it’s Loki.’

A _longer_ pause.

_Oh, fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck._

 

_Ring, ring, ring._

Unknown number.

_Crap._

‘It’s only been a week.’

‘I thought you said you were making progress fast.’

‘Precisely. In fact, I’ve _progressed_ to a new stage, where patience is crucial.’

‘It sounds to me like you’re making excuses, Loki.’

No pause; it would equal a confirmation.

‘It sounds like you’d do a much better job than me, or perhaps know someone that could. In that case, I will gladly back out…’

‘Save your petty games for Tony. I’m paying you to use that clever tongue of yours, but not on me.’

_Thank God. Ew._

‘I will keep that in mind. Talk to you soon.’

‘I will stay in touch.’

_Beep, beep, beep._

Call ended.

_Ouch. Rude._

 

_Ring, ring, ring._

_Jessica Jones calling._

‘Jessica?’

‘Hey, I need you to look up someone for me.’

A sigh.

‘Seriously, Jessica, do you think I’m your private assistant or something?’

‘No, but you owe me and you’re going to help, because for all I know I could have both my next paycheck and a batshit crazy mass murderer living upstairs.’

A _deeper_ sigh.

‘Are you drunk?’

‘I wish. Will you do it?’

‘What makes you think I know all the sociopaths in New York?’

‘Oh, fuck you. You are Jeryn Hogarth. You have access to people and databases we humble mortals can only dream of.’

‘Stroking my ego won’t help your case. Besides, your bootlicking tone needs serious improving. It sounds like you want to punch me.’

‘Thanks for the advice. Call me if you find anything weird about a man called Loki.’

‘I don’t even get a last name now?’

‘I don’t have one. He’s a PI, too. Thirty-something, British, tall, black hair, green eyes.’

‘Jessica, you can’t just––’

_Beep, beep, beep._

Call ended.

An even deeper sigh.

 

_Ring, ring, ring._

_Hogarth calling._

‘It was about fucking time. I thought you were dead.’

‘I’m sorry to break the news, but my life doesn’t revolve around you. I have a job, too.’

‘Yes, I’m deeply wounded. Did you find anything?’

‘Why do you want to know about this man, Jessica?’

‘What are you talking about? I’ve already told you, he’s my neighbour…’

‘You never asked me the details of your other neighbours. You’re working for someone, right? You mentioned this Loki might be “your paycheck”.’

‘What did you find?’

‘Answer my question.’

‘Oh, for fuck’s sake! _Yes_. Yes, I’m working for someone, okay? You know I can’t give you the full details.’

There was the minor issue that she didn’t know them in the first place.

‘You’re treading on very thin ice there, Jessica.’

A laugh. Almost hysterical. Just a tiny bit, really.

‘When am I _not_ doing that, Hogarth? I’m… well, me. Super strength and shit, remember? Thin ice is like my middle name. So? What’s the big deal?’

‘I have nothing.’

‘Excuse me, I think I got distracted by my drunkenness for a moment. Come again?’

‘I’m not joking. His full name is Loki Himinnidr and he has a brother. This is all I could find, but there’s a lot more. Files and files with his name on them, but no one can so much as look at them. They’re top secret. The government act as if they don’t even exist.’

‘… Holy shit.’

‘Jessica, just this once, you have to listen to me: drop this case. They don’t bother arresting you; they make you disappear.’

_Wait a second._

‘Then how are you still here?’

A slight pause that Jessica didn’t fail to catch.

‘I made a call. The brother, Thor Himinnidr, is a renowned attorney in England. We met a few times in the past. He helped me in exchange for the promise that I’d stop looking.’

‘So you made the decision for me.’

Irritation. Anger. Fury.

‘I saved your life, Jessica Jones, and I risked my own in the process. You could at least show some gratitude.’

‘Yeah, _fuck you very much_.’

‘Jess––’

_Beep, beep, beep._

‘Oh, I can’t believe it.’

 

_Ring, ring, ring._

_JJ calling._

‘Hey. Got something for me?’

‘I did what you wanted.’

‘Great!’

Silence.

‘… And?’

_What are you going to do?_

_Well, I suppose I’ll go to bed._

‘… There’s nothing. I mean, nothing strange. He’s clean. He has a brother living in England and has been in the USA for ten years, in New York specifically for three.’

‘A brother?’

‘Yeah. Thor Himinnidr, a British lawyer.’

An uncertain pause.

‘Oh.’

‘Why did you want to know so badly?’

‘I just…’

A nervous chuckle.

‘Never mind, it’s stupid and embarrassing. Thanks a lot for your help, though, I appreciate it. I’ll send the other part of your payment ASAP.’

‘Do I at least get a name this time or what?’

‘Alright, well, I guess I owe you that… It’s Tony.’

 

_Ring, ring, ring._

_Jessica Jones calling._

Surprise.

‘Jessica?’

‘Loki, we need to talk.’

_Oh. Clever girl._

‘Sure. I’m not home right now. Tonight?’

‘Can you come to my place?’

‘Of course. See you there.’

_Beep, beep, beep._

No goodbyes, and yet––

_Is that the benefit of the doubt, Jessica?_

_Bzzz._

A new e-mail.

 

From: <t.himinnidr@yahoo.co.uk>

To: <lucky.l@hotmail.com>

Subject: -

 

_Brother,_

_I’m coming to New York next week. We have to talk._

_Thor_

A pause that lasted forever.

_Oh, fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter might be odd and confusing. Hopefully, it will also be fun! As you can see, I'm trying to experiment with various writing techniques: different point of views, varied styles of narration, etc.
> 
> Oh, by the way: since nobody voted against it, you'll get the smutty chapter. :P
> 
> For those interested in Old Norse, "himinn" means "heaven" and "nidr" means son. I'm not an expert, so bear with me. :)
> 
> Your feedback for the previous chapter was lovely, you made my day with all those comments!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jessica, Loki, and quite a lot of swearing.

 

When Jessica Jones stormed into the living room of Loki’s apartment, he was waiting for her on a black armchair. A small TV stand and a coffee table with a bottle of scotch on top were positioned between the recliner and a complementary couch.

Bare-chested, the man had one leg crossed over the other and an empty glass in his hand. Although sitting comfortably, he paid attention not to rub his back against his seat.

‘You’re not after a stupid cheating husband,’ was the first thing Jessica spat. She stood awkwardly a few feet away from him, as though she wasn’t sure what to do with herself.

‘I’m not.’ Loki nodded. Calm and poised, yet the woman noticed something shifting in his eyes, something she couldn’t decipher. ‘And you’ve been after me.’

‘Damn right I have! You lied to me!’

Eventually, Jessica seemed to come to terms with what was her priority emotion towards her neighbour. As of now, it was anger. She had allowed herself to kindle some sort of small hope she might be able to build a proper friendship with someone – a man, even – and it had blown up in her face in less than a month. She had every fucking right to be angry and to want to punch Loki in his stupidly attractive face.

The man ducked his head to the side and regarded her through slightly narrowed eyes. ‘I never confirmed nor denied your assumptions, Jessica.’

Which was kind of true, to be honest, but still.

She didn’t answer, because, if she did, she knew she’d end up hitting him for real. She wondered why she wouldn’t want to.

When no response came from her, Loki sighed and leant forward to place the glass on the coffee table. He kept hunched over, elbows on his knees, and looked up at her. ‘What have you come here for, Jessica? What do you want from me?’

Leave it to Loki Himinnidr – where the fuck did that word even come from? – to read her goddamn mind and ask the one question she’d been pondering ever since their call.

Again, she didn’t speak, distrustful of her own mouth, which tended to say the wrong thing at the wrong moment on a day-to-day basis. Her eyes flitted towards the couch and back to her neighbour, who interpreted her glance and just gave a nod. She felt grateful to have some place soft to drop her sorry ass. Shit, she hated dealing with people.

‘I want you to tell me the truth,’ she said at last. ‘I’ve been asked to dig up your crap by someone, but I couldn’t find out much. I don’t care about what happened then,’ she specified, noticing the hard line of Loki’s jaw.

At that, it went slack. No doubt he’d suspected Jessica would be after his past. She held both hands up to clarify she meant what she said.

‘I care about now. I want to know what you’re really doing, Loki.’

Much to his own incredulity, Loki found himself wishing to believe her. She was by far one of the smartest women he had met and he would loathe the idea of actually killing her, or even just pushing her away, despite the fact that their friendship wouldn’t last long in any case. Once he was done with the job, he would have to disappear from her life; until then, though, he wouldn’t mind staying.

However, he was never one to put his own desires before common sense and logic. He fixed her with a pungent stare. ‘You don’t care about my past and yet you ask my brother to fly across the ocean to get here?’

The shock on Jessica’s face and the way her eyes bulged were too genuine to be simulated. Her next gesture – she raked both hands through her hair as if tempted to rip it off – was also full of guilt, as was her voice when she growled, ‘Shit.’

He chose to give her the benefit of the doubt, like she did with him, and kept still and silent. At least now they’d be even.

After she got a grip of herself again, she began to explain. She told him about the unknown client’s first call, Hogarth’s intervention, her own lies to the customer about what little the lawyer had uncovered, and, ultimately, the name she had been given. Tony.

At the end, Loki didn’t speak for a while. For once, though, he wasn’t making calculations, weighing his words, or planning his next move – he was simply stunned into silence.

Jessica had tricked a client out of her own free will. She risked jeopardising her reputation for him without demanding anything but honesty in return. They didn’t even know each other that well. And Tony––Tony was just a walking wonder. Loki already knew he was intelligent; everyone knew. Yet reading it on a file, hearing it from the news, and living it were different matters altogether.

Tony had figured out his real name after seeing him _twice_ – how he did it, Loki could only wonder – when there were people that even to that day, after more than a decade, still had no clue. He had also hired a PI to dig up what he couldn’t, and somehow succeeded, though by accident, to get a hold of his brother.

Of Thor, who ten years before had promised to never cross path with him again if Loki left and never came back. Of Thor, who thought Loki his worst nightmare.

Tony Stark was _nineteen years old_.

Moreover, he was the best match to his own cunning and trickery he had encountered in his entire life. And he was his target.

It felt dangerous, maybe lethal, even, and slightly arousing, too.

Despite the notion that Thor was flying to the States the following week and that Tony was suspicious and that everything was falling apart pretty damn quickly, Loki found himself smirking.

Jessica’s scoff brought him back to reality. ‘Glad that makes at least one of us happy,’ she said, arms crossed over chest and eyebrows raised. ‘Care to share what’s on your mind?’

Loki resumed his first reaction – the astonishment – and shot her a sceptical look. ‘Why are you doing this for me?’

That caught her unprepared, for she bit her lip and let the silence linger and become heavy and sticky with all the things she was pondering. She couldn’t quite make up her mind about the right answer, if there even was one.

‘Because you didn’t care,’ was her final choice. An odd one, if Loki could have a say in the matter. She shrugged. ‘Because I have a fucking awful personality and I can’t talk to people without fucking things up and you’ve seen what I can do. When they don’t hate me, people are scared of me. But you saw both sides of me – an asshole and… well, a weirdo – and you’re still fucking here.’

If the man recognised another glimpse of excruciatingly painful honesty in her big black eyes, he didn’t let on about it. He glanced casually at his surroundings and pointed out, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world, ‘Well, this _is_ my apartment.’

Many possible reactions chased one another on the woman’s face for a split-second, duelling to gain the upper hand – kicking him, swearing, crying, running away – until the most improbable of them was the last one standing.

She croaked out what took Loki one whole minute to realise was a laugh. A rusty one at best, like a tool gone unused for months. It was a poor, brittle thing. Conscious of that, Jessica shifted her attention to some place on the wall and raised her usual shield of rude sarcasm.

‘Your sense of humour sucks.’ The laughter died down, reduced to a smile that faded away. The woman shook her head, as if to scold herself for giving in to the light mood, and summoned back her trademark scowl. ‘The point is, I have to know what you want with Tony Stark. I _have_ to know you’re not the bad guy.’

Loki’s mesmerised smile could only be described as _endearing_ , like a dog owner proud of his pet. _Clever, clever girl._ ‘And how do you know the Tony that contacted you is _that_ Tony?’

She crossed her arms under her breast again and cocked her head to the side as if to ask _really?_ ‘Everyone in Hell’s Kitchen knows he’s been hiding here for two years. Everyone knows what he does.’ Her neighbour didn’t know it was possible to glare harder than that, but right then and there Jessica went beyond every limit of glaring known to man. ‘And you never struck me as a tattoo type of person.’

‘I can’t divulge anything related to my business, Jessica,’ Loki replied with an apologetic wriggle of his eyebrows.

It was the most he would say, but they were both aware it was more than enough for her to figure out the rest. For one, it confirmed her suspicions that Tony was the real case the man was working on. The conclusion was easy: there was only one place Tony Stark was still running from and those hunting him could only come from there. Stark Industries.

‘As for “being the bad guy,”’ her neighbour continued, distracting her from her train of thought, ‘I daresay it depends on your point of view.’

‘Well, I have a very straightforward point of view. Are you going to kill him?’

‘No.’

It was incredible how that simple word proved enough to make her come undone: it knocked from her lungs all the air she didn’t realise she was holding back, and it brought over her an overwhelming sensation of profound relief.

‘Oh, thank God,’ she breathed, shaken, slumping back against the couch with an unwomanly lack of grace. ‘I can’t deal with psychotic murderers.’

She said it like she’d done it before.

Loki waited for something else, but she just sat with him in silence. Unfortunately, the man could allow himself no such luxury in his current predicament. ‘So, what are you going to do?’

‘Given that I don’t have to thwart your evil attempt at killing a teenager…’ She ignored her neighbour’s exasperated face. ‘… Not much. I mean, you haven’t done anything…’ It felt like she was about to say _wrong_ , but stopped short of it and changed her mind. ‘… That I wouldn’t do myself in your place. I’m also really sorry for the mess with your brother. It wasn’t part of the plan.’

Loki waved her apology away and made a vague gesture towards the bottle on the table between them. ‘I’ll manage. Would you like a drink?’

She didn’t bother asking for a glass and took a long, greedy swig. ‘I’m the reason why you came here, right?’ she commented. It wasn’t a real question. In fact, she immediately elaborated, ‘You wanted to keep an eye on me. In case the job blew up in your face.’

Again, he was quiet. This time, though, it seemed to get on her nerves and she turned sour. ‘Is that why you’ve been nice to me?’

‘I won’t deny it wasn’t my strategy in the beginning,’ Loki admitted, as careful as if he was handling thin glass. As if she could break and harm him with her sharp edges. ‘But I wouldn’t care talking to you more than necessary if I were convinced it was a waste of time. You interest me, Jessica Jones.’

Staring down at the bottle in her hands, she nodded and fumbled for a response, when the man’s phone vibrated and spared her the hassle.

Loki excused himself politely as he checked the text.

In the blink of an eye, his cold self-control was overthrown by an unexpected surge of utter _delight_ , spreading over his features like––she couldn’t think of anything pretty. It looked like a _disease_.

It prompted her to inquire, ‘Good news?’

His eyes were glowing with childish excitement. His lips were crooked in a way that spelled, _Victory_. ‘Oh, yes. Absolutely.’

 

_Hi! I thought I’d check if your tattoo is healing well? :)_

_From: Tony Stark_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I DID IT. I thought I'd never manage to upload tonight (I've had the most stressful day ever, what with uni, gym, house-hunting, Deadpool, problems with house-hunting, etc.), but I did it!
> 
> Thanks for everyone who's following the story, now I'll go collapse on my bed! :D
> 
> Next week: Tony-Loki reunion! ;)


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony and Loki have a non-date.

 

Tony was nervous. As in Holy-Shit-I’m-Fucking-Haywire nervous.

According to Steve, it was the good kind of nervous. _You like him_ , he’d explained, when Tony asked what the hell that was supposed to mean. _He looks almost twice your age and a bit creepy for me, but who am I to judge? Point being, it’s just normal to be nervous, when you care._

Except Steve had no idea. He didn’t know Lucky’s real name was Loki, that he was a private investigator after Tony’s shit, and a psychopath with the best guarded files the tattoo artist had ever hacked into. He wished he hadn’t.

Any other man in Tony’s position would have changed name, dyed their hair, and moved to New Zealand. Of course, instead of running away from Loki, he did the exact opposite and invited him over for dinner. In a way, Steve was right: it _was_ normal to be nervous. Only his own was the bad kind of nervous.

On the other hand, he had to admit that a small, self-destructive, idiotic part of him also felt thrilled.

Loki was a good-looking psychopath. And he was _smart_. Nobody else in two years had ever got so close to him, close enough to talk to him, to touch him, even.

Tony made sure not to leave any trail: he traded alliances and enmities, earned his place in Hell’s Kitchen’s community along with their silence, and forged a protective network so efficient he could grow his goddamn goatee without worrying to be caught. Everything worked perfectly, like one of his machines, and whoever tried to sabotage it remained stuck between the gears.

Until Loki Himinnidr came along and fucking waltzed around their cogs.

Tony couldn’t help it. He was fascinated.

Then maybe it was neither the bad nor the good kind of nervous, but a little bit of both.

As a small comfort, he took the longest time cleaning up the flat and picking his outfit, so at least he spared himself the waiting. He had to try on five different sets of clothes before making his final decision. He couldn’t afford an expensive restaurant, hence why he’d ordered some takeaway from the Chinese place down the block, but at least he wanted to look good for their final showdown.

Assuming he’d stay alive long enough for Loki to appreciate his sense of fashion, that is.

Despite his efforts, he ended up wearing an improved version of his usual attire: his best pair of jeans and a black leather jacket thrown over his favourite AC/DC T-shirt. He still thought he cut a striking figure if he could say so himself.

They arranged to meet at six o’clock to give Tony an hour after closing time to tidy up the studio. At three to six, Loki rang the doorbell. The artist was certain it was him without checking, since Steve had left around five thirty for a date with his girlfriend, mindful of Tony’s need for some privacy. Steve was nice like that.

Tony almost swallowed his tongue when he opened the door. Apparently, if Loki wanted to kill him, he wouldn’t even need a weapon.

_Holy fuck, there should be some sort of law forbidding excessive hotness!_

The man was wearing black trousers, a black shirt, and a dark green pullover. Even if they weren’t tight-fitting garments – Tony’s tattoo artist soul approved, as Loki’s tat couldn’t be healed yet – they still accentuated his broad shoulders, flat abs, and slim legs. He was all nerves and lean muscle. His hair was slicked back, glimmering with gel, and his pointed chin and narrow cheeks were freshly shaven. He also had a long black coat, and the scarf he had the first time he’d come to the studio was tucked under his arm.

_Well, at least I’m not the only one who’s dressed to impress._

He regurgitated his tongue back in its usual place inside his mouth and plastered a casual smile over his face, as though Loki’s appearance didn’t bother him at all. Or the fact that he was his would-be killer, for that matter.

‘Hello,’ he greeted in a cheeky tone.

The man tilted his head to the side and smirked, equally cocky. ‘Hello to you.’

Tony stepped aside to let him in and showed him the hanger next to the door, where Loki left his outerwear. As the artist led him to the small kitchen-slash-living-room, he fought to suppress a small shiver. What if Loki took advantage of his turned back? How long did he have to plan his moves before the man made his own?

He was also self-conscious of what his apartment looked like: the cracks and mould stains peppering the walls, the cheap wallpaper, the old furniture. Why the hell did he even care? It wasn’t like he was going on an actual date with the guy. His was more a––a plan of attack. Yeah, right.

_You are so fucked up._

‘You truly are a workaholic,’ Loki quipped, his voice laced with amiability. Out of the corner of his eye, Tony saw him looking around without the smallest trace of judgement. ‘You even live above your studio.’

The boy found himself smiling again and didn’t have to fake mirth as he countered the man’s banter. ‘What can I say? It’s easier. So if you scratch your tat against the back of my chair or something, I can always go down the stairs and fetch the stuff to fix you.’

In the kitchen, the air was stifling, heavy with the smell of food and the hot steam rising from the plates Tony had already set. Too early, of course. _Idiot._ ‘Uh, sorry ‘bout this,’ he mumbled, awkward and embarrassed and _idiot_ , rushing to open the window.

Why was he making such a big deal of it? The guy wanted to _murder_ him.

Loki just snickered, although in a good-humoured way, and beckoned him to join him at the table, where he’d already made himself comfortable. ‘Come on, you don’t want to eat it cold.’

The artist mocked a scowl while sliding into the chair across from his. ‘I thought you came here to show me your tattoo.’

Loki pulled his chopsticks apart and threatened him with one of them. Tony didn’t find it as funny as the man intended, what with the object having a rather sharp point.

‘Food first,’ Loki instructed. ‘You do not get to see me naked so easily.’

Despite himself, the boy flushed the faintest shade of pink. He had his fair share of experience, regardless of his young age, but he bet the other man was just as promiscuous, not to mention he had an additional advantage of ten years. He was sort of terrified of performance issues, given the competition. So sue him.

‘Jerk,’ he muttered, sticking both gaze and chopsticks into a chunk of his sweet and sour chicken.

He knew he should feel bothered by Loki’s intentions and especially by his past. However, it was hard to reconcile the deranged, cold-blooded psycho in his head and in the files with the brilliant, gorgeous man eating prawn chow mein in front of him and making the darkest, crudest gibes sound like the funniest jokes in the world.

Tony couldn’t help laughing even when he was the very victim of his guest’s wisecracks, and he was enjoying himself, and Loki’s eyes had flames in them that danced and made the artist’s stomach do somersaults, and Loki’s smile was heroin and the midnight sea, addictive and magnificent, and _it wasn’t fair_.

It wasn’t fucking fair and Tony was tired of running, tired of seeing his life ruined by a name he’d never chosen, tired of doing things that a boy of nineteen should only see on TV, like inviting a guy over with a weapon instead of a rose hidden in his trousers. Or a condom, depending on personal taste.

To his credit, he was struggling too hard with exhaustion, morals, and shit to see the next question coming.

‘So,’ Loki started, putting his chopsticks on top of his empty plate. He folded his arms over the table and leant forward, curiosity and expectation glowing in his gaze, and Tony assumed he’d make another joke about the tattoo or something. Instead, the man smiled and asked, ‘Shall we get to the part where you take out your knife and threaten me?’

If Tony were chewing something, he’d spit it out. Maybe Loki had waited on purpose for him to finish his food. Maybe he was nice that way.

When the initial shock subsided, the artist didn’t even try to play the fool. Underestimating Loki could be the death of him. Literally.

He didn’t fish the weapon out of his pocket, either, and replied with a casual shrug, ‘I thought it’d be polite to do it after digesting. Things like this are bad for our health and all, you know. But, if you insist, let’s get down to business then. Who sent you?’

He wasn’t so delusional to believe that Loki would be terrified of him. He was still nineteen and had never held a knife for any other purpose than buttering bread, while the man sitting across from him was probably a professional assassin. Stark Industries wouldn’t settle for any less. Still, he _was_ the one with the weapon; a small flicker of worry wasn’t too much to ask for, was it?

On the contrary, Loki relaxed against the back of his chair and steepled his fingers over his belly, ducking his head to the side and levelling him with an amused glance. The idle smile on his lips looked every bit like a wolf’s snarl.

‘You are so very smart, Tony,’ he complimented the boy. Oddly enough, it sounded honest. ‘Pray tell, how did you figure out my real name?’

Tony knew what was the _smart_ thing to do. He should keep Loki at bay with his knife and call the police. Somebody that could deal with him. On the other hand, he knew the challenge in the man’s poisonous eyes and, honestly, he wanted to brag a bit, because his brainwave _had_ been genius and Loki was the only person that would truly appreciate it.

Therefore, he threw caution out of the window.

‘Well, it was your design.’ The artist crossed his arms over his chest, his hand close enough to his jeans that he could pocket his weapon in a second if need be. ‘I was just curious at first, so I googled it. Turned out it was some old Norse symbol for the God of Chaos, Loki.’

The man scrunched up his nose, scepticism etched into every crease of his frown, yet Tony could tell he was hanging from his lips. ‘That’s it? Quite far-fetched, don’t you think, to just assume I had a different name based on that? I could simply like Norse mythology a lot.’ Loki’s lips twisted into a shit-eating grin. ‘Maybe you are a bit paranoid, my dear.’ He pointed at the boy’s jeans with a suggestive motion of his chin.

‘I know, I know,’ Tony admitted. Holding up his hands would be more theatrical, but he couldn’t risk not being able to get to the knife. He had no idea what Loki could be capable of. ‘I know how it sounds. It wasn’t nearly enough to draw conclusions. But then I remembered you saying your family is superstitious and I realised I never caught your last name. Or your job. Or anything at all. And yes, I _am_ paranoid. You know who I am, so I don’t have to lecture you on the reason. Long story short, I googled “Lucky” and got nothing. “Loki” gave me the weirdest results, but none of that shit was relevant. “Lucky Loki” linked me to the old record of a secure centre… or whatever it’s called… in England, but it was shut down three years ago. So I had to call in a specialist: I hired a private investigator, told them about my assumptions, and they found out a lot more than I hoped for. I added a pinch of hacking _et voila_ : all of a sudden, you’re a real person with a real past, not a ghost with an unlikely name.’

Loki’s idle, relaxed smirk faded away along with the boy’s voice, and the colour drained from his already pale face. The artist spotted the change immediately. As if Loki expected everything he said, except for his ulterior digging. Tony could almost see the control over the situation slip through the man’s fingers like gravel, hard and cold.

Loki’s eyes were icy slits and his tongue darted out to wet his lips nervously when he asked, slow and weary, ‘And what do you presume to know about my past that is _real_ , exactly?’

Tony smiled. It looked like his hidden blade.

But on the inside, far away from Loki and light, he was cringing, a little boy afraid of the monsters in the wardrobe.

‘I know about the accident.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I assume you must hate me right now for the cliffhanger, so I'll keep this nice and short to avoid your wrath.
> 
> So… I promise more FrostIron in the next chapters? From now on, they'll be together in pretty much the entire story, for your pleasure and mine (and theirs).
> 
> … Forgive me for this? :D


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki's dark past is finally revealed.

Whatever Loki thought Tony knew about him, it was clear he didn’t see that coming at all. However, Tony didn’t have time to savour his small victory, because he didn’t see _Loki_ coming, either.

The next thing he knew was that he was bent down, the side of his face pressed flat against the table, his own knife, stolen from his pocket, held to his throat. The man pinned the boy’s hands behind his back with his own free one, as though Tony was a defenceless little kid, as though he was never a real threat.

The tattoo artist gritted his teeth and swore under his breath. His heart was racing, and he was going to die, and he should have never been so foolish as to believe he’d save himself, and it had been a stupid game from the start, and _he was going to die_.

Like his parents. He was going to die.

‘You know nothing,’ Loki snarled in his ear, his breath hot against Tony’s skin. He twisted the boy’s arm to a painful, unnatural angle, causing him to bite his lip to keep from screaming. ‘You should not believe everything you read.’

‘I don’t,’ Tony hissed, powerless rage flaring in his eyes.

If he was going to kick the bucket, he might as well hit Loki with it in the process.

The man stiffened. His grip didn’t get any softer, but he was listening. ‘What?’

‘I don’t fucking believe everything I read,’ the artist repeated, spitting words like bullets. Loki trembled slightly with each of them, as if taking physical hits.

‘The files say you had your mother killed, then your father fell into a shock-induced coma. But that’s bullshit, isn’t it? You never wanted to kill her. That was a real accident.’

Loki’s jaw moved pointlessly and a muscle in his cheek jumped as though he was struggling to force the words out, but nothing came. His gaze didn’t need any verbal explanation, anyway, and spurred Tony to continue, ‘I can’t say for sure, but I don’t think you wanted anyone killed that night at all. When you gave the thieves directions to your father’s study, you didn’t expect they’d find your mum there. You just wanted whatever was in that safe, didn’t you?’

He didn’t need to mention the secret recordings of the private talks between the two brothers in the interrogation room, which had taken him the longest to decrypt: the heavy silence probably meant the man figured out on his own that Tony already knew about them.

The boy had spent a week reading each file, watching video after video, piecing facts together.

According to the version Thor had fed the court fourteen years before, Loki had caught a group of thieves breaking into the Himinnidr’s house one night. Scared for his life, he had helped them get to the safe in his father’s study, but they had killed his mother, Frigga, before fleeing with the loot.

According to the hushed whispers the brothers had shared when they thought they were alone, Loki had hired the thieves, led them to the study, and opened the safe for them of his own free will. Everything had gone as expected, until the criminals had turned on him out of greed. Frigga had found them, alerted by the noise, and they had murdered her.

Unravelling the events had left him with more questions, but he supposed he would never get his answers now. His death contract had been long since signed. It was only a matter of time before Loki would tire of playing with him. Considering what he had uncovered, it was likely to be very soon.

As in within the next couple of seconds.

They ticked by, one after the other, like grains of sand in an hourglass.

One. Still alive. Two. Still alive.

The bone-crushing hold loosened and disappeared. He heard the soft sound of footsteps and clothes rustling behind him. The clinking of metal when the knife hit the countertop.

Tony didn’t dare to make a move, just in case it was a joke and Loki planned to cut his head off as soon as he looked up. He’d rather not see his death in the face, thank you very much, no matter how unbelievably handsome he was.

The standstill went on for too long to be just Loki playing with him, though. Moreover, his odd position made the whole affair even more awkward.

At last, Tony placed his hands on the table and pushed to set himself upright. Each movement was slow and careful, his eyes fixed ahead of himself for fear of what he would find when he turned around.

Loki was so quiet the boy almost hoped he was gone, but, when he did steal a glance over his shoulder, the man was still there. Watching him. A ghost of his previous fury still lingered on his face, but it was weak and uncertain.

Tony stared back at him, at a loss for what to do. It was the most embarrassing silence of his entire life.

At last, the man retreated, resting his backside against the kitchen counter, and spoke. Tony realised Loki was looking straight through him, seeing another place in another time.

‘They all thought I wanted to kill Odin. Even Thor. They thought I miscalculated and Frigga suffered the consequences. They all thought I was a monster… or needed me to be one.’ All of a sudden, his gaze was again focused and sharp like a blade, his green eyes practically tearing holes into Tony’s skin. ‘You don’t even know me that well. Why do you presume I’m not?’

‘Don’t get me wrong, you _are_ batshit fucking _insane_ ,’ the boy hurried to say, holding up his hands.

Loki just nodded.

_Oh, God, so it’s true._

A small part of Tony still nurtured the hope that the files might be wrong. ‘But you’re smart. If you _had_ wanted to send Odin on his merry way to the afterlife, you would’ve picked a different room, where you were sure you’d find him alone. And thieves? Please, you would’ve hired assassins instead of bothering with the whole fake robbery shit. You’re a perfectionist: you want a job done, you want it done well.’

Loki nodded again. He wasn’t just paying attention; he was _drinking_ each of Tony’s words like a man would drink water after a month in a desert. The artist couldn’t recall a single occasion in which anyone had stared at him with the same intensity.

The boy cleared his throat to shift his focus from the uneasiness blossoming in his stomach under the man’s scrutiny, like a carnivorous plant gnawing at his insides.

‘And you’re also a diva. Yours wasn’t just a farce; it was meant to be a show. You wanted your family to notice what was missing.’

Loki still didn’t stop or contradict him, which Tony by then recognised as his preferred method of agreement. The man seemed to be in awe, which both flattered him and made his discomfort grow bigger. He wasn’t certain that understanding a psychopath’s mind was a good thing. ‘So, uhm, what _was_ missing? What did you want to steal so badly?’

At that point, Tony had no clue what kind of reaction to expect from Loki. He was still processing the fact that he’d been left alive, to be fair. However, if he thought nothing could surprise him anymore, he couldn’t more wrong, because, when the man freaking _rolled his eyes_ , Tony had to resist the urge to bend down and pick up his figurative jaw from the floor.

‘It was the goddamn hammer,’ Loki huffed, raking his hands through his hair as if recounting an embarrassing anecdote from his childhood instead of _that_ ––Tony didn’t have a name for the thing. He doubted one existed at all, though “mindfuck” was accurate enough.

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘There is a tradition the Himinnidrs have.’ The man crossed his arms over his chest in preparation for a long story. ‘Have had for generations, to be precise. For his eighteenth birthday, the heir receives a token marking him as the rightful successor of his father. It’s a small hammer, a trophy, if you will.’ Loki made a face. Scorn looked funny on him. ‘It’s bullshit. It was old-fashioned in the Nineteenth Century and yet Odin insisted it had to be done, because it was the way things had always been. And it just _had_ to be Thor’s birthday gift, even if at the time he was an idiotic drunkard that did nothing but run after footballs and skirts in no particular order.’

Tony was positive his eyes must have popped out of his orbits and fallen to the floor, because they couldn’t possibly get any wider. ‘You’re telling me you paid to have your brother’s paperweight stolen because you were _jealous_?’

For the first time since he’d let the boy go, Loki’s admiration was replaced by spite. He shot the artist a stinging glower. ‘Of course not, you moron. The hammer is just a decoration, but its meaning is much deeper: it’s a present to celebrate the inheritance of the Himinnidr family business, which Thor was anything but ready to administrate.’

‘Oh.’ Tony gaped at him as the meaning underlying the man’s words sunk in. ‘ _Oh_. You wanted them to know it was you.’

‘Eventually,’ Loki confirmed. ‘If Mjolnir – the hammer – was to disappear, Thor would throw a tantrum and my parents would see the truth about him.’

‘What happened then?’

He just _had_ to know the end of the story now. The man’s lips quirked up into an indulging smile. His casual attitude about his past – the way he seemed to _relish_ the boy’s attention – should trouble Tony. It should also trouble him that he felt more like hanging from his lips than worrying about his sanity.

‘They gave me a custodial sentence on remand and I had to stay in a… centre, until my hearing, when I turned eighteen.’

_Sweet holy mother of fuck, he was even younger than me._

The notion wasn’t wild enough to prompt him to stop Loki, anyway. Another little detail pointing at his possible madness that he chose to overlook for the time being.

‘In the meantime, Thor sold the company and studied to become a lawyer. He wanted to defend me during the hearing.’ Loki’s voice quivered and he had to stop to regain his composure. It was the first time the artist saw him show any kind of emotion towards his own story. ‘He is the reason why I was released. In return, he demanded that I leave the country and never come back.’ He shrugged and held up his hands, a bitter smile tugging at his mouth. ‘I stayed in Norway for a while, in my family’s summer house, to finish my education. When I was twenty-two, I left for the USA. I’ve been here ever since.’

More often than not, Tony was one to break silences rather than keeping them. On this particular occasion, however, he had too much to take in and found comfort in the absence of words and noise. A slice of normalcy after their absurd conversation. Even so, he knew he could escape the decision he had to make only for so long.

Loki must feel the time was upon them, too, for he asked conversationally, ‘What’s your plan now, then?’

Instead of answering right away, the boy rubbed his hands over his face and replied with a different question, speaking through his fingers, ‘Why did you stop lying to me? Why tell me the whole truth now?’

_Unless you’re about to kill me, of course._ But Loki didn’t seem inclined to even threaten him at the moment.

The man blinked a bit too quickly, the only detectable sign of his surprise. ‘I’ve never lied to you. Not once.’

If astonishment were lethal, Loki would be the perfect murderer, Tony thought as he stared at him, confused as to how he should react.

‘ _What?!_ ’ he croaked at last, like he was choking on his own tongue. Which might or might not be the case; he was _that_ traumatised. ‘In case you forgot, you gave me a false name and made friends with me to kill me!’

He waved his arms dramatically to emphasise his point. The man was not impressed, judging by his deadpan expression.

‘I never lied to you,’ he repeated, dragging out each syllable as though to drill his honesty into the boy’s brain. ‘I may have omitted some details,’ he conceded, ‘but I was telling the truth all the time. The boys at the centre started calling me “Lucky” when Thor said he’d be my lawyer. Besides, I gave you my birth name, too: it was for you to find if you paid close attention to the tattoo, as you did.’ He twitched his lips into a small, cocky grin, the clever bastard. ‘I did tell you I come from a superstitious family, didn’t I?’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All my knowledge about law stuff comes from here: https://www.gov.uk/young-people-in-custody/overview  
> I'm sorry if it isn't completely accurate, but this _is_ a fanfiction, after all! I can get away with a poetic license. ;)
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! From now on, the story will be focused on Tony and Loki, so you'll see a lot of them in the upcoming chapters as well. :D


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki wants to have fun. Tony doesn't share the enthusiasm.

 

The grin slipped away from Loki’s face, replaced by a disappointed grimace as the man rested his lower back against the kitchen counter and inspected his nails casually.

‘I suppose sex is out of the question, at this point.’

To his credit, Tony didn’t burst out laughing like a maniac, didn’t choke, and didn’t have any other dramatic reaction in general. He had to swallow before answering, though. Loki watched his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down with perhaps an excessive amount of interest.

‘Excuse me, _what_?’

The man frowned, aggravated by his thickheadedness, and repeated, drawing out each syllable deliberately like he was talking to a retarded kid, ‘I said, I suppose sex is out of the question.’

‘Yeah, fuck you, I heard the first time,’ Tony snapped, a furious flush creeping over his cheeks as a result of both distress and annoyance.

The sight elicited a soft chuckle from Loki. A young man as he still was, the artist was easy to manipulate – in these trivial matters, at least; he wasn’t so delusional to underestimate the most intelligent boy in the United States – and so _delectable_ when he got worked up over Loki’s teasing.

‘I mean, why the hell would you say that?’

Tony rested his hands on his hips and cocked an eyebrow at him. The man was relieved he had already got over his previous panic. Loki didn’t have enough patience to be anybody’s therapist.

‘That was the plan,’ he shrugged, as if it wasn’t a big deal and the boy should be expecting that shift in the conversation. Had Loki already mentioned he had fun messing with him? ‘Have dinner, offer you a deal, and celebrate with sex afterwards. However, I imagine the little stunt you pulled with that knife dampened the mood, didn’t it? I have to admit it caught me off guard.’

‘What deal?’

_Good boy_ , the man cooed inwardly, pleased that Tony wouldn’t let himself be misled by his skilled tongue. Despite the age difference, that boy could keep up with him so much better than most adults.

‘You must have realised I’ve got quite a fickle personality,’ Loki admitted, without a hint of shame at the gigantic proportions of his understatement. “Fickle” and “insane” could be synonyms only in his own very personal language.

Tony didn’t interrupt to point it out, though the man could see the sentiment flashing like neon lights across his face.

‘You see, I get bored easily.’ He widened his arms in a helpless gesture, his face open, earnest. It was such an ill-fitting expression for his character that even he was tempted to laugh at his own ridiculous hoax. ‘And I’ve grown bored of my current employer. On the other hand, I find you quite intriguing. I am burdened with a conflict of interest.’

Tony took his time to answer. He was scanning Loki’s body language for any indication of deception, though with that man anything was both truth and lies. Loki indulged him, for he already knew the boy would eventually give in to his curiosity.

‘So… you’re not going to kill me?’

‘I’m not.’ Loki paused for dramatic effect, because he couldn’t help himself. ‘But that was never my employer’s will. On the contrary, Obadiah Stane would be very pissed if you were to die any time soon.’

Tony was already pale with fear. At the mention of Stane, he turned yellow and swallowed hard, as if he was about to puke. Loki drew his eyebrows together in confusion. He assumed the artist knew Stane as his father’s business partner, but it was obvious there was much more to it than that.

‘Obadiah Stane…’ Tony’s whisper was the ghost of his usual loud, jaunty voice. He was shaking harder than when he was scared Loki would kill him. His eyes darted aimlessly around the room and his breath caught in his throat. He had to swallow again, his Adam’s apple working its way up and falling back down abruptly. ‘Stane paid you?’

The man crossed his arms over his chest and considered the artist, green eyes gleaming with intense curiosity. Giving away information without any notion of what Stane might mean to Tony had been reckless. At such a delicate stage, he had to be more careful or the boy could turn on him.

‘Yes,’ he admitted. It was too late for omission and the truth couldn’t harm him, anyway. ‘He contacted me two months ago and offered me ten million dollars to find you, gain your trust, and persuade you to hand over the company to him.’

Each word was like a stab to the artist’s chest. He hunched his shoulders and gritted his teeth, as though enduring physical pain. Loki itched to find out what was going on, but it wasn’t the time to demand answers, not when Tony was on the verge of an emotional breakdown.

‘The company? What the fuck…?’ The boy took his head in his hands and shook it once, twice. Slow, fatigued jerks that seemed to drain his energy. ‘What the fuck are you talking about? I left two years ago, the company is already his…’

The man wondered how Tony would react if he tried to get closer. The artist’s body was wrecked by shivers and his short gasps matched his quickening heart rate. On top of the shocking discovery, he still saw Loki as a threat, so the man stayed still.

‘No, it isn’t,’ he corrected, his tone soft, almost gentle. ‘Your father was provident. He wrote his will long before the accident. He left Stark Industries to you as his only heir. Officially, Stane is taking care of business until your return.’

If Loki hadn’t trained his self-control so well, he would have already succumbed to the boy’s nerve-wracking silence. Instead, he remained calm and schooled his expression into neutrality.

Eventually, Tony got a grip on himself, drove his nails into his palms so deeply his knuckles whitened, and a muscle in his jaw twitched as he forced himself to speak.

His voice was low. He probably didn’t trust it not to give away his feelings. ‘He wouldn’t bother getting someone to… gain my trust… if all he wanted was a signature. Hell, he could’ve asked and I would’ve done it two years ago!’ That was a lie caused by distress, but the man didn’t comment on it. ‘What else does he want?’

Loki sighed. He had no choice but to deliver the heaviest blow. When he thought he wanted to see how long it would take for Tony to break, he didn’t mean this. It had to be on his own terms or it would be no fun.

‘Once you’ve signed, he won’t need you anymore. At that point, I can kill you.’

Maybe because the boy had been expecting a death threat from the start, his reaction was much more collected this time. He shuddered only once, dropped his arms down his sides, and inhaled. He was still staring at the floor.

When he exhaled and glanced up, his eyes were dark, but not with terror or despair.

It was pure, unbridled rage.

It made Loki’s skin tickle with excitement. _Oh, yes._

‘What deal?’ Tony repeated, a snarl in his voice and on his face. It made him look so _beautiful_.

The man wanted to lean in and kiss him. For all his composure, he was just about to yield to temptation.

_My delicious, unpredictable boy._

Instead, he said, ‘I can help you bring Stane down.’ His eyes were sparkling with delight as he decorated his speech with animated gestures. He was just so _thrilled_. ‘Pretend you agree to his terms and come to Stark Tower with me. Make him believe you’re going to sign, he will be so sure I will get rid of you afterwards…’ The pause was utterly useless, not to mention time-consuming, but he loved a little drama. ‘And then I will kill him.’

Tony parted his lips to respond, changed his mind, and crossed his arms over his chest. He held his chin up, proud and defiant and gorgeous, trying to make up for his earlier display of weakness. ‘Why should I trust you?’

‘Oh, please, don’t.’

Loki rolled his eyes. Puzzled, Tony blinked at him stupidly and the man snorted.

‘I’ve heard that question all my life. Why should you trust me?’

He pressed the back of his hand against his temple and pretended to swoon. He snapped back to his usual poised self so suddenly that the artist startled.

Loki opened his arms, spreading his fingers wide apart, and gave a non-committal shrug. ‘You can’t. Don’t you ever trust me, Tony Stark, or I will be the end of you.’

He took a tentative step forward and extended his arm towards the other.

His smile was bright, fascinating, and unhinged.

‘And yet,’ he purred in a sweet, deadly murmur, ‘I’m the only one you have left.’

It was true, of course, and the unhappy curl of the boy’s lip was proof of it, if Loki ever needed some.

Tony eyed his proffered hand gingerly. ‘What’s in it for you?’ he asked, searching the man’s face again, although neither of them believed he’d actually noticed if Loki wanted to trick him. ‘Why switch sides now? I can’t believe you’re turning down all that money just because of my pretty face. And I don’t remember execution being legal in this country, either, which means you’d be fucked if you killed Ob––Stane. What aren’t you telling me?’

‘Oh, you’re such a spoilsport, you clever little thing,’ the man huffed, failing to suppress a sheepish grin. The grin of a boy caught stealing sweets.

He looked so much younger and innocent and _happy_ , even. Tony was dumbfounded. He couldn’t even find it in himself to argue at being called something as ridiculous as “clever little thing”. Though, admittedly, it was a bit flattering.

‘You’re right, I haven’t shown you all my cards yet,’ Loki confessed, placing his hands on his hips. ‘In my defence, this is a very recent development and I wanted it to be a surprise. Oh, well, so much for it now.’

For all his fake disappointment, he could no longer contain his impatience. He started smirking long before he spoke, ‘It’s hard to be “fucked”, as you say, if you’ve got the right lawyer on your side. As it happens, Thor is coming to visit tomorrow.’

Tony’s eyes couldn’t pop out more without falling on the floor. Of course, that was the man’s intention all along and it only made his smile grow wider. The rational portion of the artist’s brain – more of a narrow niche, truth be told – was screaming at him he should freak out, but, in fact, he thought crazy looked good on Loki. It made his stomach churn in a way that wasn’t entirely unpleasant.

Tony was stunned beyond speech, but the man didn’t need him to say a word. He had plenty himself, eager to show off.

He covered the distance between the two of them in a single long stride and wrapped Tony’s hands in his own. Loki’s palms were large, his fingers long and elegant and flawless, whereas the artist’s were smaller, marked by callouses and small cuts. They fitted together in an odd way.

The man lowered his voice and leant towards him, smug and conspiratorial. ‘Jessica contacted him by accident while she was digging in my past on your account.’

‘Uh, you’re not upset about that? How do you even know?’

Tony’s tone was surprisingly impersonal, considering all the emotional pressure he was under. That was because his brain had called it a day and shut down the system a long time before.

He was running on a stand-by generator that only powered his basic functions; it didn’t include “flipping out and running in circles screaming like a banshee”.

Loki shrugged. ‘Jessica is a colleague. How would I _not_ know?’

He pulled back from the artist and freed his hands from his own grasp, leaving Tony staring down at his fingers, palms facing up, uncertain whether he was relieved or disappointed.

The man didn’t give him time to make up his mind.

‘What’s your answer, then?’ he insisted, his cool and controlled façade clinging to his skin like a custom-tailored suit. The boy had a growing suspicion he might be schizophrenic.

Loki’s eyes shone like stars, or maybe meteorites fast approaching and bound to burn everything to the ground.

‘Don’t you want to have _fun_?’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, lovelies!
> 
> I'm back with a new chapter, more FrostIron, and tons of hugs for all the people that have been leaving feedback for this story. You make me smile and blush every time, thanks! :)
> 
> I'm almost done with chapter 13 and I think the story will end in a couple more chapters. However, due to uni and other business I have to take care of, my writing pace has been considerably slowed down. That said, I'd like to know your opinion: shall I keep on updating once a week, but maybe taking a longer break when (and if) I run out of ready chapters, or shall I spread out the updates (once every two weeks, for instance) so that I have more time to finish the fic?
> 
> Thanks so much for all the love you're giving to HMS. <3


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony offers to show Loki the rest of the house. Loki doesn't care; he just wants to see a bed.

‘Yes,’ Tony rushed to say, as if frightened Loki might change his mind. Or, perhaps, that _he_ might change his own. ‘I mean,’ he added, just as quickly, eyebrows raising in response to the man’s last question, ‘I accept your help. I’m not sure we have the same idea of “fun”, though.’

A thick veil of something sultry and enticing fell over Loki’s eerily gleaming eyes. Once again, he stepped into the boy’s personal space, hands neatly folded behind his back, and bent almost in half, until their faces were on the same level and _fucking close_.

Tony could feel his breath against his own cheeks. A part of him was nauseated and wanted to put some goddamn distance between them, but the rest of him was intrigued. Curious. Aroused, even, because his dick would be the end of him.

He didn’t know why he was so scared of Stark Industries, when he was threatened by his own body.

‘Don’t we?’ Loki smirked, tilting his head to the side so that his lips were angled towards the artist’s. They were a breath away from kissing and Tony felt like he was tiptoeing on the edge of a cliff, looking down into an alluring abyss, waiting for the other man to give him one small push.

‘Well…’ The boy tried to swallow and found out his throat was too dry to produce saliva. ‘Considering that one word can have several meanings, I suppose we might share one or two.’

Loki’s vivid eyes darkened as the man pushed the artist against the table. Tony reached backwards to grab the wooden edge for support and let out a choked gasp when Loki’s mouth found its way to his neck.

‘Indeed.’ The man’s husky whisper was followed by his tongue, flickering over the boy’s heated skin. ‘However, I’d rather postpone this thought-provoking conversation about the many challenges of our language, if you don’t mind.’

Tony liked to think his retort was just as articulate and clever, but, in truth, he wasn’t even sure he spoke at all. Maybe he just made some kind of animalistic sound that no one could mistake for a human voice. Either way, he didn’t notice as Loki’s deft hands found their way under his T-shirt and travelled up to his shoulder blades and then back down to his waistband to rest right above his backside.

‘Uh…’ Tony tried to remember how to speak English. He was pretty sure he’d learnt it at some point in his life. ‘Would you like to… see the rest of the house?’

When the man paused to shoot him a look, silently inquiring about his level of sanity, the boy couldn’t help the breathless chuckle bubbling up to his lips. ‘I mean, my bedroom. I, uh… Steve and I live together… I don’t know when he’s…’

Too many words for Loki’s patience. He silenced the artist with a rough bite under his jaw, but took his hands off Tony’s body – much to the boy’s disappointment, no matter he’d been the one to suggest it in the first place – and reached out for his wrist.

‘I don’t need you to show me around, Tony,’ he sighed, tugging the artist along as he sauntered across the room with the ease of someone who had lived in that place for years. ‘I was spying on you, remember?’

In his defence, how was Tony supposed to make any sense at a time like that? Somehow, as Loki led him through his own flat, the boy managed to pull his shit together. In all honesty, the man could be casual about the whole I-Was-Hired-To-Kill-You-But-Opted-To-Fuck-You-Instead ordeal, but Tony was still having a hard time processing it. With good reason, too. _He_ wasn’t the crazy one.

‘Why?’ he asked, while Loki was pushing the door to his bedroom open with his free hand.

The man shot a brief, questioning glance behind his shoulder at him. ‘Oh?’

‘Why are you doing this?’ Tony clarified, encompassing the two of them getting into his room with an expressive twist of his eyebrows. ‘Obi… I mean, Stane promised you all that money. You don’t even know me, so sue me if I’m a bit sceptical you’re throwing everything away for my pretty face.’

‘Believe it or not, you do have a pretty face.’

Before the boy had a chance to reply, Loki dragged him inside, kicked the door shut, and pressed him against it in order to resume the ravishing he’d been forced to put on hold earlier. He ditched the teasing in favour of cupping Tony’s ass with both hands in a way that left no room for either argument or doubt regarding his intentions; the boy uttered an undignified squeal of surprise before he could help himself.

‘Hey! How about a bit of a warn––hmfff!’

Loki’s mouth was on his own, Loki’s tongue thrust so deep down his throat the artist wondered if it was looking for something, Loki’s fingers tugging down his jeans, nearly ripping them apart and off his legs, Loki’s hot breath on his face.  _Loki_.

After the initial duel with Tony’s trousers, Loki uttered a flustered groan at the offending sight of his boxers, like he couldn’t bear to waste any more time on something as trivial as undressing him. The boy burst into laughter and not even the man’s glare managed to dampen his amusement.

‘It would be _lovely_ if you were actually of use instead of acting like a deadweight. Do you even know how sex works? It requires cooperation from both parties, in case you missed that part during sex ed,’ Loki hissed, yet Tony couldn’t find it in himself to be annoyed. Which pissed the man off to no end and only provided more fuel for the boy’s mirth.

‘Sure, sure, cupcake,’ Tony chuckled, pushing aside both jeans and underwear with his foot. Then he rose on his tiptoes to give Loki a playful peck on his cheek, way too chaste for the entire situation. The artist withdrew from him to show the man his shit-eating grin and cocked his head to the side. ‘Forgive me?’

He expected some sort of nasty retort, whereas Loki fell strangely silent. He was staring at Tony, puzzled and awestruck and almost _adoring_ , to the point where the boy felt uneasiness stir in his guts. He had never been _seen_ that way before.

But then Loki looked away, huffed, and took his hand to manoeuvre him towards the bed. ‘Sometimes I have serious doubts you even want to get laid tonight, Tony.’

The boy didn’t dignify that with an answer. Taking advantage of the man’s turned back, the artist freed himself from his grasp and shoved at him with both hands.

_Hard_.

He knew his success was largely due to a stroke of luck – the last thing Loki expected under the current circumstances was for him to escape his grip – but watching the man fall face first on the mattress was still pretty damn satisfying, if he could say so himself.

And he could.

Tony climbed into bed with him and slid between his legs as soon as Loki rolled onto his back, anticipating his retaliation with a kiss. More a mess of lips colliding, tongues swirling around each other, saliva mixing, and limbs tangling, but it did make the man forget his wrath and the boy’s snub altogether.

As Tony shrugged off his leather jacket, Loki lifted his T-shirt and tossed it on the floor after the artist raised his arms to help him get rid of it. The man’s pullover and black shirt followed shortly afterwards, then Tony started fumbling with the opening of Loki’s trousers. Soon enough, he realised he couldn’t take them off their owner _and_ kiss him like the world could end the next day at the same time, as skilled as he might be at multi-tasking.

‘What the fuck’s wrong with your pants?’ he groaned, looking down at the culprit. Loki’s amused snort drew his attention back to the man’s face, where he was met by a dickish smirk that could rival his own. ‘What the fuck’s wrong with you?’

‘Nothing.’

Drawing a graceful arch in the air with his back in order to remove the insulting article of clothing, Loki rocked his hips against Tony’s, who promptly wondered what on Earth he was doing, wasting energy on irritation when the man obviously had a much more intriguing agenda.

Besides, Loki’s undergarments were nowhere in sight, a surprise that convinced the blood in Tony’s brain to give in to gravity and pool into his crotch. He nearly missed it when Loki swapped their positions. The boy blinked up at the man in blissful confusion as Loki hovered over him, propping himself up on his palms.

They looked at each other for some time – a minute, an hour, all night – just listening to their laboured breathing.

Then Tony had to look away, as if the sight was painful, and nodded his chin towards the bedside table. There was something warm on his face, like a blush. Except he did _not_ blush. ‘Second drawer.’

Loki smirked, the fucker, and planted a teasing butterfly kiss on his cheek, a mocking imitation of Tony’s own earlier derisive gesture. He reached out to rummage through the boy’s stuff – in his blind search, he recognised a pen, a small notebook, and a pile of boxers – until his fingers touched the familiar forms of a bottle of lube and a pack of condoms. He pretended he needed more time just to take advantage of being stretched out over the artist to rub their bodies together in a way that left both of them panting raggedly.

Tony muttered something that was suspiciously similar to “asshole”, wound an arm around Loki’s neck, and pulled him down for a hungry kiss. The man was happy to comply while dragging lube and condoms on the mattress next to them.

Tony extended his free hand to snatch the bottle from Loki’s grasp, lifted it behind the man’s back to unscrew it without letting go of his neck, squirted some of the liquid onto his palm, and sneaked his hand between Loki’s legs.

The man gasped into the artist’s mouth when he felt the sticky coolness of his coated fingers teasing his erection. He lowered himself down until their bodies fitted together like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, then he gave an experimental roll of hips to meet both Tony’s hand and his cock. The choked groan it prompted brought a sly smile on Loki’s lips and spurred him to repeat the movement over and over again, creating some insanely good friction.

While the boy rubbed the lotion over Loki’s cock, dutiful and thorough, the man broke the kiss, albeit reluctant, and replaced his mouth with his fingers against Tony’s lips. Quick on the uptake, the artist threw a mischievous glance at him and sucked three of them in, his tongue twirling around each one in turn.

The sight and feeling of that greedy mouth on him made Loki’s eyes darken, his pupils dilating until the green was almost swallowed by the black. However, it was Tony to get fed up with the foreplay first: he pulled away from the other and stared up at him, expectant. ‘So, are you going to fuck me any time soon?’

If his impatience didn’t match Tony’s, Loki would laugh. As it was, he groaned what was supposed to be his assent and traced the boy’s body with his hands, curious, exploring. Reverent. He caressed Tony’s shoulders, arms, sides, and thighs. At last, he let them rest over his ass cheeks and spread them with slow, calibrated gestures, before pushing the first finger into him.

The artist arched against him and dropped his head back.

Loki marvelled at how beautiful he looked.

As he pressed his digits into him – one, two, three, Tony was insatiable, Loki was insatiable, it was all too much, it was never enough – Tony fumbled with a condom and rocked his hips in time to Loki’s movements, panting and grabbing at the sheets.

The cloth kept slipping through his fingers, his grip on them too weak. The thoughts kept slipping from his mind, his grasp on reality too uncertain. He needed something to anchor himself to that moment, to that world, yet neither physical objects nor brain were enough. He was full of Loki, but not as much as he wanted to.

He needed Loki.

Eventually, the man pulled out his fingers and lifted Tony’s legs over his own shoulders, spurring the boy to wrap them around his waist to pull him close again. Loki positioned himself behind the artist and grabbed his sides to lead their bodies towards one another. Tony closed his eyes in anticipation.

They both pushed at the same time, meeting half-way through.

It was blissful and scorching hot and messy. Tony’s hands kept patting the sheets, feverish, as he clenched his muscles to accommodate Loki’s erection. Only when the man’s fingers wrapped around his own, while Loki thrust and thrust and _thrust_ , did Tony’s hands find some peace.

They held Loki’s as the boy responded to his movements with equal voracity; they held Loki’s all the way through. They were still holding Loki’s when both of them collapsed on the mattress and lay on their backs on opposite sides of it.

‘You don’t care.’

It was eerie to hear Loki break the silence. It seemed like he was profaning something sacred.

Also, it didn’t make any sense.

Tony had to wait for his lungs to start working again before he could respond, ‘What?’

‘You asked me while I’m doing this,’ the man clarified. Tony turned his head to look at him and found him staring at the ceiling without seeing it. ‘Because you know who I am, you know what I’ve done, and you don’t care.’

The boy realised watching him made him feel uneasy, so he glanced up, too, mimicking Loki’s stance.

He didn’t know what to answer.

The man didn’t need him to.

‘Besides, my plan worked perfectly, despite your little stunt with the knife. Deal _and_ sex. I am so clever.’

The smug fucker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, guys!
> 
> In the end, I decided to update the fic every two weeks to give myself some time to write… In real life, I have to deal with two uni assignments, advertising my first novel (which will be published next week in my home country, Italy, so, alas, no English version yet), updating the English novel, "Story", on Wattpad, working as a comic book writer, and travelling back to Italy for Easter. So, yeah, don't kill me if I'm only half-way through chapter 14 by now.
> 
> And, anyway, I brought you porn, and that's always a good thing, right? :)
> 
> Thank you all for your support, it really makes my day! If you want to leave a like on my FB page, Veronica Tomasiello Author, or vote/comment on my novel "Story", that'd be swell! If not, you're still amazing readers and I hope I'm not disappointing you with this fic.
> 
> Cheers!


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor arrives. It's a weird reunion.

 

‘So, Thor.’

Tony didn’t know Loki well enough to judge whether his deadpan face was fake and the man was having an inner emotional breakdown, or it was authentic and he wasn’t at all bothered by the upcoming reunion with his elder brother. However, he felt like at least one of them should address the issue, since the guy would go through the arrival gate any second now.

Loki claimed it was safer for Tony to stay with him for the time being and the artist couldn’t find it in himself to protest.

Nevertheless, he was sort of antsy, because the lawyer that was supposed to save his ass also happened to be the brother of the criminal he _accidentally_ had had sex with. Loki’s apparent lack of interest in the subject only caused Tony’s anxiety to increase, as though he had to make up for the man’s astonishing self-control.

‘Yes,’ Loki replied, curt and still infuriatingly unfazed. ‘What about him?’

‘What’s he like?’

In his mind, Tony pictured an older version of Loki, maybe an inch or two taller, with broader shoulders, and a beard. He didn’t know why the beard; maybe it was a fantasy of his to see one on Loki. Anyway, the beard stayed.

Loki pointed to someone with his chin. ‘Like that.’

Well, the beard was there, but it was about the only detail the artist got right.

For one, Thor was huge. As in _gigantic_. Although they were the same height, even Loki was dwarfed by his elder brother’s impressive bulk. Tony supposed he saved a lot of money on hammers, knives, and the like; who needed those trinkets when you had triceps the size of a small country?

Besides, Thor was blonde. It wasn’t a dye; he was blonder than Barbie. How could he be related to Loki Black-non-beard Himinnidr?

The man was wearing jeans, sneakers, and a blue polo shirt that brought out his clear eyes. He had a sober, lawyer-y briefcase in one hand, and a baseball cap covering his long hair.

Tony knew the exact moment in which the brothers’ eyes met, because Loki stiffened and inhaled sharply. A careless observer would miss it, but he was like a cord pulled taut. Tony wasn’t delusional about his own perceptiveness; if he noticed at all, it was only because he was standing close to the other man.

Thor didn’t smile, but he didn’t look particularly hostile, either. When his attention shifted to Tony, his brow furrowed, yet – much to the boy’s relief – he didn’t seem inclined to kill him. Or maim him. Maybe punch him, but the artist could work with that.

Tony had no idea what Thor’s reaction would be upon seeing his brother. Something in Loki’s own defensive stance suggested he was asking himself the same question.

Closing the distance between them seemed to take Thor forever – though it was probably just Tony’s apprehension muttering under its breath – and his younger brother didn’t bother to move an inch. At last, they were face to face, looking the other in the eye.

Tony swore the intensity of the moment would kill him.

Then Thor’s eyes were glistening and his tree trunks––err, his _arms_ were rising to surround Loki’s shoulders. Thor drew him to his chest, as if his younger brother would disappear if he didn’t hold onto him for dear life.

It was the most awkward scene Tony had ever witnessed, because Loki didn’t return the motion, but didn’t push him away, either. He didn’t react at all; he stood straight in Thor’s embrace, arms limp along his sides, chin resting on the other man’s shoulder as he stared into the distance, pondering only God knew what.

‘Brother,’ Thor breathed, voice strong and breaking at the same time.

If Loki’s eyes were wet, too, Tony couldn’t know, because he conveniently looked away.

Thor placed his hands on his brother’s shoulders and gave him a gentle push backwards, keeping him at arm’s length to search for his gaze. He nodded in Tony’s general direction. ‘What is going on?’

Loki stepped away from him and freed himself from his grasp with a shrug. ‘We’ll talk in the car,’ he declared, clipped, more an order than a suggestion.

His elder brother knitted his eyebrows together and sent another befuddled glance Tony’s way. The boy was wearing sunglasses, a red beanie, and a scarf that covered the lower half of his face, goatee included. He shook his head minutely and Thor nodded again.

The artist was surprised when the lawyer followed them to the vehicle without further questioning. The boy couldn’t help wondering what kind of trouble he must be used to after spending his entire childhood with Loki. The thought was a bit disturbing.

Staying in the car with the two of them turned out to be stifling, even after taking off the props for his disguise.

The particles of tension that out in the open could spread in every direction, like gas, were now forced into a compressed condition of semi-solidity, making the air heavy and unbreathable.

Thor sat shotgun, his enormous arm lying on the armrest. He cast an expectant look at Loki, who was in no hurry. He took his time fastening his belt and starting the vehicle, then he pulled out of the parking lot and got into traffic. Thor’s gaze on him was so intent Tony decided he would take it upon himself to kick Loki if he didn’t speak. He couldn’t handle Thor’s bristling impatience any longer and he wasn’t even its target, for fuck’s sake.

Finally, Loki stopped pretending he was alone in the freaking car. ‘Thor, this is Anthony Stark.’

Thor wasn’t impressed. In fact, Tony doubted anyone owning a TV would. ‘I know, I recognised him from the news. I thought he went missing some years ago.’

‘Indeed. They’re trying to kill him,’ his brother deadpanned, attention fixed on the road. Relaxed, like they were talking about the weather, while the boy felt his words like a blow, sucking the oxygen from his lungs. He’d never heard or said out loud how fucked up his life was.

‘That’s why I need your help,’ Loki continued, without missing a beat, as he took a sharp turn.

Thor’s poker face was the most incredible Tony had ever seen. The guy didn’t so much as blink, despite the topic being murder. If he had had doubts that man was Loki’s brother, they were all gone by now.

‘My help with what, exactly, Loki?’

‘I’ll kill him,’ the boy blurted out before Loki had a chance to respond. Thor’s head snapped to stare at him nestled in the middle rear seat. ‘Obadiah Stane, my father’s partner,’ Tony clarified. ‘He wants to kill me, so I’ll do it first.’

Loki didn’t counter the boy’s declaration, even if the other hadn’t informed him of his homicidal intent yet. ‘He needs a lawyer,’ he tossed in instead, voice level and casual. He even hummed to himself and tapped his fingers on the steering wheel as he waited in a queue at a traffic light. ‘I thought you might take his case.’

That was a bit too much, even for unswayable Thor. He opened his mouth as if to respond and instead stayed like that for a while.

Yeah, Tony knew the feeling.

‘Loki, this is insane,’ Thor said at last, turning to direct his gaping face towards his brother. ‘It will never work. Stark Industries have one of the safest security system in the world. Howard Stark designed it himself, you must know it. How can you…’

Loki explained it to him with the same unnerving calm he had shown ever since Thor’s arrival. All of a sudden, it occurred to Tony that the man was never so poised: Loki was prone to emotional outbursts, either positive or negative, which meant he must be in a state of great distress if he kept his feelings to himself.

The boy could barely refrain from gawking like Thor. Loki was _nervous_. Sweating-Palms-OMG-I’m-Gonna-Die nervous.

In a different situation, Tony would have laughed his ass off.

As it was, he was too jittery to even spare it a fleeting thought.

Loki could act cool all he wanted, but they were both aware they needed Thor’s cooperation. Without it, at least one of them would be screwed, no doubt.

When Loki’s voice was eventually replaced by silence, Thor’s expression was indecipherable. He ran a hand over it in a tired motion, yet Tony had a hunch it had little to do with his seven hours’ flight.

‘I need to talk to you,’ Thor said eventually, shooting his younger brother a sharp look. ‘Alone.’

Loki nodded. Tony exhaled.

The rest of the journey was very quiet.

 

Can people die from stress?

Tony really hoped not, because if it were possible he’d be on his merry way to the morgue. When they came back to the apartment, the brothers locked themselves up in the boy’s bedroom to discuss as he waited in the kitchen.

No, scratch that: it would be more appropriate to say, “as he very seriously weighed pros and cons of hanging himself in the kitchen”.

He didn’t want to be left to his own devices. He needed to do something, anything, to keep himself distracted from the thought of what was going on. He didn’t want to allow his mind to wander and remember that Obie – _Stane_ , just Stane now – had betrayed him and his parents. It was more than likely that he was behind Howard and Maria’s accident, too.

Tony felt bile rising up, making his throat dry and aching, and had to grab the edge of the sink in order to calm himself down.

He struggled to focus on the only good aspect of that shitty ordeal: he’d called Steve in the morning, before leaving for the airport, and warned him to stay away from the flat for a few days. He couldn’t tell him the whole truth over the phone, but his friend wasn’t stupid; he instantly assumed something was going on with Stark Industries and accepted Tony’s instructions without arguing.

Well, without arguing _too much_ , anyway.

He was worried and he wanted to help – God bless his stubbornness – and it had taken Tony several attempts to persuade him there was nothing he could do without endangering both of them. At last, Steve had muttered something about his friend’s “insufferable logic” and hung up after making him promise to catch up with him as soon as possible. Tony hoped he’d survive long enough to do so.

He didn’t know how much time he had already spent bent over the sink, when a loud crash snapped him out of his reverie.

He straightened up as Thor emerged from his room. Loki didn’t follow. The lawyer took the short journey from the hallway to the kitchen in long, calibrated strides, ridiculously calm in comparison with the series of suspicious noises in the bedroom he left behind: other crashes, thuds, and Loki’s voice, swearing repeatedly in English and in another language Tony failed to recognise.

Neither of them spoke until Thor stepped into the kitchen. At that point, the boy cleared his throat and wondered how to address the Loki in the room politely. As it was, his vocabulary didn’t feature the word “politely”. ‘So, uh, why’s Loki going crazy?’

‘He will be fine,’ Thor replied. He seemed thoughtful for a second, then he shrugged. ‘Eventually. In the meantime, I’d like to have a few words with you, too.’

It wasn’t like Tony had other choices, now was it?

‘Yeah, sure. Sounds cool to me.’

‘Good.’ Thor’s unrelenting stare and stern attitude were grating on the artist’s nerves, but even he wasn’t so reckless as to argue with those muscles. ‘I believe you know about my family’s past. Am I correct?’

Tony had a feeling the man would hit him regardless of his reply. It felt odd when the lawyer made no move to approach. ‘Yes.’

Thor let out a sigh, like he was relieved for some reason beyond the boy’s imaginings. His shoulders sagged and he looked much older and much more tired. There were dark, heavy bags under his eyes, and a strain on his face that gave away his deep exhaustion. He began to say, ‘I’m so sorry. For everything that happened to you. Losing your family like that…’

He flinched, never finished the sentence. His gaze wandered off to some other time in the past, back when his mother was still alive, his father wasn’t in a coma, and his brother wasn’t guilty of murder. When he returned from that place, his sorrow was genuine.

Okay. Tony wasn’t expecting that.

‘Loki has taken your situation to heart,’ Thor continued, a bit uncertain, as if struggling to phrase his thoughts correctly. ‘He… sympathises with you, I believe. But, you must understand, his judgement is… impaired. My brother isn’t always in his right mind. The therapist…’

Finally, Tony’s brain caught up with what was going on. He might be ingenious when it came to science, but human emotions? No can do.

He lifted his palms to silence the other man. He obliged – more on instinct than because he found Tony irresistibly charismatic, but don’t tell the boy – and arched an interrogative eyebrow.

‘Easy there, Point Break,’ the artist quipped, trying to sound confident, when, in fact, the whole thing was at the top of the Awkward Scale. Now he understood why Thor seemed to be wrenching the words out of his own throat. ‘You don’t need to… Loki isn’t… He’s not forcing me into anything or influencing me or whatever the hell it is you think he’s doing. What happened years ago is between the two of you. But now it’s not about you, it’s about me, and for some reason Loki wants to help.’

He stared right into the lawyer’s eyes and held his breath for a long stretch of tense silence before declaring in a final tone, ‘And I want him to help me. I’m not scared. Not of him or of what I have to do. But I _have_ to do it myself. Do you understand?’

Thor scrutinised him for what could be years, for all Tony knew. He could measure each day by listening to his own heart, pounding hard in his chest; by feeling each drop of sweat running down his temples and along his cheeks.

He knew that was his last chance to convince Thor of his resolution. Whatever he and Loki had shared in that room, the man was still doubtful of what he regarded as the only unknown variable in the equation: Tony himself.

‘Well,’ Thor began, folding his arms across his enormous chest. ‘In this case, it’s time to inform Obadiah Stane of your upcoming return.’

As he spoke, two things happened at once: Tony’s lungs were summoned into existence again and Loki appeared in the doorway, behind his brother. He looked immaculate, like he hadn’t been trashing the boy’s bedroom just two seconds before. He had a phone in one hand and a bitter smile on his face.

‘Let’s make a call, then.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Driven by a sudden burst of inspiration, I'm already writing the epilogue of this fic! Including that, it will be 15 chapters in total. Almost there! As a result… weekly updates again! :) Thanks for bearing with me in the past few weeks.
> 
> The ending will be very abrupt and bittersweet, just saying; it will be one of those endings you either love or hate, with no middle ground. Hopefully, not too many of you will hate it. XD
> 
> Thanks for the lovely comments, kudos, and views. <3 Let me know what you think of my work so far!


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A promise is made.

 

When the door of Tony’s bedroom closed behind them, Thor didn’t waste time on small talk like he would have so many years before, in another life. ‘Did you plan this?’ he asked sternly, nodding towards the wall separating them from the kitchen.

Loki lifted his hands in a gesture of mock appeasement. ‘I’m just as surprised as you, Thor. In the car, it was the first time he’d mentioned it to me, too. Do you truly believe me so despicable I’d let a child do my dirty work?’

Thor hesitated, but he seemed to believe the other man. He crossed his arms over his chest, his face bone-weary, but still alert. ‘Then he is clearly unbalanced, Loki. It isn’t wise to take him anywhere near Stark Industries, if what you say is true and Obadiah Stane wants him dead, but even more so if the boy’s intentions are serious.’

‘Thor, I’m not delusional,’ Loki said in a sharp tone, shooting his brother a pointed look. ‘Why would I make you waste your time on a hopeless case? If he killed Stane, not even you would be able to save him.’

He inhaled slowly and forced down the rest of his snappy retort, closing his eyes for a second to regain his composure. It would be pointless to provoke Thor’s ire now.

When he met his brother’s gaze again, Loki was collected and impersonal. ‘I know that perhaps I’m asking too much, but I need you to trust me on this. If you don’t, he will be the one to pay the consequences.’

Thor stared Loki down for a long time, as if trying to peel off what he suspected was a mask on the man’s face. Eventually, Loki’s unrelenting stare convinced him he wasn’t lying, for his expression softened, taking on a surprised edge. ‘You care about him,’ Thor observed in a quiet voice. Even that was so very different from the loud, flamboyant teenager of Loki’s memories.

The man was put off by the unexpected change of subject. For a split-second, he simply blinked, then he shrugged off the implied question without acknowledging it. ‘Does that matter? We don’t have the time for this, Thor.’

For some reason, his reaction seemed to amuse Thor, a ghost of his good-natured smile grazing his lips as he shook his head. ‘Of course,’ he replied in a condescending way that earned him a glare. ‘What do you have in mind, brother?’

Loki was almost delighted to wipe the patronising grin off Thor’s face with his own explanation. If his brother thought Tony’s plan was ridiculous, now he was staring at him as if Loki was utterly mental.

This time, however, his reaction was much quicker and way less docile.

‘ _No!_ ’ he hissed, not loud enough to be heard from the outside, but the thuds of his fists against Tony’s desk made up for it.

Absentmindedly, Loki watched the artist’s pens, pencils, and felt-tip pens roll on the surface and fall to the floor. Even without Thor’s help, the place was rather messy: loose pieces of paper, sketchbooks, and drawing tools covered the desk and part of the floor; the sheets were still piled at the end of the bed, where Tony had kicked them that morning; and the walls were buried under layers of posters and the boy’s designs.

‘I will _not_ do this, Loki!’

Thor’s altered voice pushed Loki out of his reflective state and forced him to face his brother again. The other man’s entire arms were shaking, his teeth set on edge, his blue eyes alight with emotions too strong for Loki to bear. Yet neither of them was going to look away first, like it was one of their childish challenges.

_Who laughs first is an idiot!_

_You don’t need to lose a game for that, Thor._

Loki snorted his annoyance at the man’s stubbornness. ‘What then, Thor? What are you going to do?’ His lips twitched into a terrible smirk. ‘Stop me?’

Thor’s mouth was a thin line, but he couldn’t counter that. ‘Why are you doing this to me again, Loki?’ he asked instead. ‘Why do you force me to choose between you and the values I believe in?’

‘I…’

Words failed Loki, master of lies and cunning, and he swallowed and shuffled his feet, like the time he was five years old and Frigga had caught him stealing biscuits.

‘Thor, if I could do this alone, I…’

‘I just want you to come back home with me,’ the other man interrupted him, his gaze dropping to the ground as he fiddled with his fingers like he didn’t know why he even had them.

Loki was tempted to burst into laughter, but Thor’s sudden bashfulness was undeniable proof of his sincerity. ‘What did you just say?’ When his brother refused to answer, a muscle in Loki’s cheek twitched; worse still, his tone became sickly sweet. ‘Thor, what is it? After all this time, why have you come to visit me?’

Thor had trapped himself and only realised it when it was too late to elude Loki’s direct question. In that, he hadn’t changed; when at last he replied, Loki wished he had.

‘It’s our father. He woke up two months ago and has been asking to see you ever since. I had to promise I’d bring you back.’

Loki didn’t know how he kept it together on the outside, when inside of him something shattered and it was so painfully loud it made him grit his teeth. How could Thor not hear?

After the initial disconcertment, he processed what his brother was clumsily hiding between the lines and anger mounted in place of astonishment. ‘He wants to see me, Thor? After what I have done?’

The other man cast a pleading look at him. ‘He wants to have our family back…’

‘ _Don’t lie to me!_ ’

He didn’t scream, like every fibre in his tense body wanted to, as he was aware of Tony being too close for comfort. Still, he came pretty damn close and he felt a sour kind of satisfaction swelling inside of him when Thor visibly cringed.

‘Loki, you have to understand. The coma… It left him weaker. I didn’t want to risk putting too much pressure on him.’ Thor started in a slow, placating way, but soon began to rush his explanations instead, noticing Loki’s rapidly growing fury. ‘I couldn’t tell him the truth. I couldn’t tell him… I had to say you weren’t involved. That you didn’t do anything.’ He offered an uncertain, brittle yet genuine smile as a peace token. ‘It’s… it’s another chance. To be a family. You can come back and…’

_Crack._

That wasn’t the sound the thing inside Loki made. It was the sound Tony’s ruler made when Loki’s fingers snapped it in half.

‘ _You_ told me to leave,’ he said, his voice level in a ragged, threatening way, as he pinned Thor under the weight of his stare. ‘You told me to leave and never return to England. And now, _you_ want me to live in a lie, to fulfil your revolting fantasy…’

He stopped to catch his breath, laboured like an ox’s at the end of a long day spent ploughing the fields.

Then, much to his own surprise, he snorted. Then the snort rose in volume and twisted into a laugh. A broken noise, so horrible to hear he covered his face with his hands and turned away from Thor, who could only watch, paralysed by the horror of seeing his brother break down because of him.

If Loki wiped away tears as he pulled himself together, the other man was too distressed to notice.

‘I don’t even know what to say,’ Loki admitted after a while. He was incredulous. It was the first time in his whole life that his brother left him speechless. ‘I thought _I_ was fucked up. Do you have to be better at this, too?’

‘Listen…’

‘Don’t. Speak.’ Loki held up a hand, the other one still hovering over his face. His eyes were closed and his mouth set into a hard line. ‘Get out.’

‘Okay.’ Thor nodded, although his brother couldn’t see it. ‘I’ll go. Just… promise me you’ll think about it. I will help you, I’ll do what you want, but, please, Loki…’

‘I said, leave. Now.’

As Thor closed the door behind his own back, something else went _crack_. But he didn’t turn to look.

 

_Ring, ring…_

‘Loki?’

‘Answering on the second ring, no less? Why, I’m touched.’

‘You didn’t just call to make fun of me, did you? I’m a busy man, so if you don’t have anything…’

‘Well, I do have Mr. Stark Jr. here with me at the moment, but I can tell him to call later if you are otherwise occupied…’

A sharp, irritated intake of breath.

‘For God’s sake, let me talk to him!’

Cue a shit-eating grin and some rustling as the phone was passed on to a different hand.

‘Obie?’

‘Tony! It’s so good to hear your voice!’

‘Same here. Sorry for making you worry about me.’

‘Don’t you even say that. I’ll have plenty of time to kick your ass later. How long have you been with Loki?’

‘A couple of days. He told me what you want me to do. You know, with the company.’

‘Tony, I know this is a difficult time for you and I know you want to be left alone. After two years off the radar, you got your point across. That’s the only reason why I’m offering you this. It’s a way out, if you want it. You could keep doing what you like best and at the same time ensure Stark Industries are in good hands.’

A pause. The best part came now.

‘Howard would be proud of you.’

An equally well-timed, sentimental silence.

‘Thanks, Obie. You’re great. I… I want to sign.’

‘That is… that’s good, Tony. I think you are making the best decision for yourself. We can meet in my office to take care of the paperwork, but, if you need some time…’

‘No, it’s okay. I’ve already made up my mind and I want to get it over with as soon as I can. Is that alright?’

‘Well, yes. Of course, Tony, whatever you’re more comfortable with.’

‘Great. I’ll be there later in the afternoon.’

‘See you soon, Tony. I’m looking forward to it.’

_Click._

A bitter grimace, bared teeth, trembling fingers squeezing the phone too tight.

‘I’m going to kill that bastard. You have to promise, Loki. Promise me you’ll let me do it.’

Thoughts hanging in the heavy, soundless air.

‘Yes. I promise.’

 

It was painfully easy to pass the security measures of Stark Tower. Indeed, Stane believed he had Tony wrapped around his finger; of course it would be easy. Yet, Tony was going to kill someone. It was disturbing to think it could be that simple.

They had agreed Loki would carry the gun, since it would be expected of him, and he would hand it to Tony at the right moment.

As the boy anticipated – and hoped for – there were no bodyguards in Obadiah’s office. Even if the man acknowledged Tony’s genius, he still saw him as a child, much more so after his running away from the company. It was likely he regarded that as the reckless act of a frightened kid.

Not that Tony was going to tell him otherwise, not when it played right into his hands.

When Stane came to the door to invite him inside, his fatherly smile froze on his face as soon as he saw Thor.

‘Tony,’ he said. It would have sounded much more welcoming – the artist suspected – if Obadiah hadn’t been caught off guard. ‘I didn’t know you would bring company.’

Tony put on his best impish expression. ‘Yeah, sorry for not mentioning it before. This is Thor. He’s acting as my lawyer.’

According to the plan, now Thor would give Stane a handshake and a rehearsed introduction. In fact, he was already extending his arm.

But Loki was quicker.

He took the gun from the holster on his belt and shot Obadiah between his eyes.

Tony blinked and Stane was already reeling backwards from the force of the hit. He blinked again and Obadiah was on the floor. He blinked a third time and blood was spreading underneath him, tainting his expensive white linen shirt.

‘ _No!_ ’

It took Tony a long time to figure out the throat that cry had been ripped from was his own. Even then, he still didn’t notice the hot tears painting burning lines down his cheeks as he turned towards Loki.

‘No!’ he repeated. ‘You _promised_ , you––’

Calm and poised as could be, like he hadn’t just murdered someone, Loki let his gun slide back into its case and held both hands up in a slow, calculated motion. He met Tony’s disbelieving stare, curled his lips into a strangely soft smile, and turned his back on him to face the group of gorilla-sized men hurtling in their direction, alerted by the noise.

For some reason, Tony could hear Loki’s voice perfectly over their harsh orders to stand down.

‘Yes,’ the man said. ‘But I lied.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An abrupt end; don't say I didn't warn you. Well, I'll leave it to you to comment. (:
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	15. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of promises broken and kept.

 

The lively colour of the jumpsuit looked amiss next to Loki’s pale skin and black hair. It stood out like a bruise. At least, it was the perfect spot for Tony to frown at. Anything to avoid Loki’s sickening smile.

‘You look good,’ the man said at last, since the boy refused to speak. ‘I trust Thor is taking care of you?’

‘Oh, _fuck you_.’

Loki was unfazed. He seemed to be expecting the sour, tired insult. He tilted his head to the side and eyed Tony curiously. ‘Have you only come here to offend me?’

‘Him and Steve both.’

The man narrowed his eyes, pondered the reply with utmost seriousness, decided it made no sense at all, and shrugged in a helpless fashion. ‘Excuse me?’

The boy crossed his arms over his chest and a condescending smirk worked its reluctant way onto his lips. ‘You asked if Thor’s taking care of me. He and Rogers will not shut up about it one second. _Eat, Tony_. _Go to bed, Tony. Wear your boxers, Tony._ For fuck’s sake, have you left them a note or something?’

He ran a hand through his hair in a fit of annoyance, but the corners of his mouth curled up slightly and he averted his gaze from Loki, as if to hide his true, softer feelings.

‘I’ll have you know I didn’t,’ the man objected with a mirthful scoff. ‘I don’t believe you need a baby-sitter; you’re big enough to look after yourself. Alas, Thor takes instructions always so… literally.’ He sent a pleading look towards the ceiling, but no angel turned up to get rid of his brother. Worth a try, if you asked him. ‘As for your friend, I don’t know what to say. Maybe thickheadedness is more common among blonde people.’

Again, the artist couldn’t meet Loki’s eyes; he wouldn’t give him the satisfaction to see how hard he had to fight the surge of hilarity threatening to spill from his lips. Stupid Loki and his stupid wit.

‘Why are you here, Tony?’

Well, at least he could always count on Loki to kill his good mood. The question was like lightning tearing the sky apart. It brought back everything he came to tell the man and everything that had happened on the day Stane died.

The only positive outcome – sort of – was that he finally searched for Loki’s face without reluctance, stubborn blue eyes boring into bright green ones. ‘I asked you to let me do it, Loki. Why didn’t you? Why the fuck did you have to…?!’

His voice rose in anger, but it died down again at the end of the sentence, which he never managed to finish. His hands twitched to be brought up to his face, but this time he wouldn’t be the first to shift his attention elsewhere. He needed to show Loki his strength, his resolve, how he would have been able to do it if only the man had not interfered. If only Loki had believed in him.

But Loki knew better; he always did. He saw straight through him, bared his soul, and refused to buy Tony’s shit. ‘Because you can’t have blood on your hands, Tony Stark. Not now. It would scar you forever.’

Something on his face twisted in an unpleasant fashion and the boy swallowed down the reflexive, self-defensive impulse to blurt out a sarcastic retort.

‘You _will_ be scarred,’ Loki continued in a grave tone, as if making a prophecy. ‘It’s inevitable. It’s the weight that comes with your extraordinary mind. But it is not time yet.’

‘Why do you think you had the right to decide that?’ Tony snapped, slamming his hands, palm down, on the table they shared, though separated by the glass panel. His voice was calm, but the gesture sounded deafening among the hushed conversations of the other inmates with their respective visitors. The boy’s cheeks flushed when he felt their sideways glances burning into his skin.

‘Because you were about to throw your life away to protect _me_ ,’ Loki said, matter-of-fact. He didn’t yell. He didn’t make any sort of movement. His face was carved from the sturdiest stone, too. He probably said “what’s for lunch today?” with the same amount of emotion.

Nonetheless, it was the loudest sound Tony had ever heard.

‘I don’t need protecting,’ the man went on, knowing he had the boy’s undivided attention, and, for once, his silence. ‘I can’t be saved, do you understand? Not if you are the price.’

‘I wasn’t…’

‘Didn’t you come here to tell me you don’t want Thor as your lawyer in the case against me?’ Loki interrupted him, brusque, yet not unkind. When Tony only glared at him, mouth sealed shut, something wild and snarling flashed in his green eyes. ‘You need Thor’s expertise to come clean out of this or the Starks’ name will be forever tainted. You can’t have that now. You’re supposed to be a CEO; you need people to trust you. If they sympathise with you, it will be easier to gain their approval.’

The boy clenched his hands into fists to stop them from shaking rather than out of anger. ‘If I let that happen, they would trust a liar. You don’t deserve this!’

_You don’t deserve to sacrifice yourself for me._

‘It isn’t about what I deserve.’ Loki’s voice was steady in a cruel, definitive way that bore no room for argument; his lips split into a bitter grin. ‘Come on now. You are the person with the second biggest ego I know of and the first one is me. It isn’t time to play the selfless hero.’

‘But I’m being selfish. All I’ve done since I met you is because I’m nothing but selfish,’ Tony corrected him. His voice dropped to a whisper and he looked down at his palms. ‘I don’t want you gone.’

His shivers wouldn’t stop; he was cracking at the edges. He would soon shatter to pieces under the pressure.

As he watched the boy, it dawned on Loki that he had no desire to witness it.

He still wanted to see how far Tony could be pushed, but not like that.

The man heaved an inward sigh. He hadn’t planned to tell Tony, but, once again, the artist played an unpredictable part in Loki’s tactics. Slowly, Loki raised a hand and ran it through his hair, feeling his black locks snake between his fingers like solid water. It was a soothing sensation; it reminded him of Frigga doing the same to his younger self.

‘I won’t be gone,’ he said. The words dragged Tony’s feverish eyes back to the man; they made him stop shaking. ‘I promise you. I won’t be gone.’

He didn’t ask to be trusted and the boy didn’t remind him he had already broken one promise before.

There are promises always meant to be broken, whether or not we acknowledge it. Then there are those not even time or fate can destroy.

Tony stood up. He had to go back to Steve, waiting for him outside; to Thor, back at Stark Tower, revising the New York State legal system in order to protect him as best as he could – and, though the lawyer would not admit it, to try to save his brother, too.

Tony’s gaze was full of light. He nodded.

‘Okay,’ he said.

Loki smiled.

 

Loki smiled.

Jeri Hogarth did not like that smile. It was crooked at an odd angle, as though the man knew something no one else in the whole world suspected. Jeri did not like to not know things.

‘Well, Mr. Himinnidr,’ she started in her professional, totally unimpressed lawyer voice. She steepled her fingers in front of herself and tilted her head to the side in a questioning fashion. ‘I must say, when Jessica told me you asked to see me, I was very curious. What may I help you with?’

Loki’s smile didn’t diminish, even as he responded, ‘I’m glad you accepted to visit me, Mrs. Hogarth. I was hoping I would get a chance to meet you properly. As I’m sure you already know, I’ve been accused of murder. My brother, Thor, has opened a case against me; he works for Tony Stark, newly appointed head of Stark Industries. You must have heard of him.’

Jeri’s expression didn’t change in the slightest, even when what Loki was going to demand of her opened a rift beneath her feet. In the crack, she couldn’t see anything but darkness.

Loki was still smiling. His gaze was full of darkness, too. ‘I would like to hire you as my lawyer and you will give me back my freedom.’

_I have a promise to keep._

 

**END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, a few acknowledgements:
> 
> Thanks to my 54 subscriptions and 29 bookmarks. It's a short fanfic, overall, and I did not expect such an amazing reception.
> 
> Special thanks to akuma_river, IzHunny, Fififire, and Lucien_Maes, who have left consistent feedback on almost every chapter of HMS. Your comments have made my day, embarrassed, and flattered me. I hug you all!
> 
> With this short epilogue, "Heroin And The Midnight Sea" comes to an end. It filled six months of my life with FrostIron, fangirl feels, and joy. Thank you so much for reading. :D


End file.
